


10 Months

by aussieokie



Category: The Blacklist (TV)
Genre: Angst, Drama, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-04
Updated: 2018-04-21
Packaged: 2019-02-10 09:05:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 60,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12908724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aussieokie/pseuds/aussieokie
Summary: Set during and after episode 508. What will Ressler do with Liz in a coma? Will she ever wake up? Try as he might to do his job, his thoughts are on only one person. And she is unaware, comatose and intubated while life carries on around her.





	1. Hanging by a Thread

Donald Ressler considered himself a relatively sensible human being. He lived by the book, and concentrated on the facts at hand. Well, most of the time. It wasn't that he no longer stuck to his moral guns. Just that things had a way of becoming grey, instead of black and white. And they'd been getting greyer with each passing year. Then there were those moments where everything seemed to be one thing and then turned out to be something entirely different. Like going to a crime scene with his partner, distraught at the thought of her husband missing, only to lose sight of her mere minutes later.

And now he stood among the carnage of blood, bodies, and a wood chipper that had been used in a horrific manner as techs processed the scene. Yet all he could focus on was Liz. Not minutes after she'd broken down in his arms and sobbed against him, she had disappeared. Vanished after receiving a phone call. Calling her number again, he listened as it rang and rang. He was worried about her. More than worried, he was afraid for her safety. Who knew what the hell Tom had got himself involved in that had caused his disappearance and the resulting bloodbath he now stood in. No answer again on her phone. He hung up and began a systematic search of the scene. But she wasn't there. He already knew that. She'd left of her own accord, it would appear, and hadn't told him. And that hurt, as much as he tried to squash it.

After another ten minutes, with a final look around he climbed into the vehicle, still dialing her number. And still all he heard was the incessant ringing before it cut to her voice recording. He'd left two messages. There was no point leaving more. Either she was okay or she wasn't. Either she'd call back or she wouldn't.

"Liz, what are you doing? Where are you?" he whispered, darting through the traffic on the way back to the Post Office. But one thought was paramount. He might not know where she'd gone and what she was doing, but he was damn sure Tom Keen was behind it. He shook his head, let loose a string of expletives aimed at the man and kept on driving. The man was forever going to be the bane of his existence. But worse than that, was how much the man's irresponsible actions continually affected Liz.

Ressler called Aram to have him put a more thorough trace on her phone, explaining briefly that Liz had left the crime scene, while ignoring Aram's questions. "Just start tracing her phone, Aram," he told him, then hung up, eyes on the road in front of him. As he drove he could picture her. She'd been frantic and afraid all day. Hell, she shouldn't have even been at that horrific massacre he'd just left. It had been too much for her. If he inhaled deeply enough, he could still smell her perfume lingering on his shirt and jacket. He could almost feel her fingers gripping his lapel, leaving a slight crease visible even now, and still remember the weight of her head pressed into his left shoulder as his arms wrapped around her shaking form. And that wasn't something he wanted to forget too quickly. "Liz…"

Finally arriving back at the post office, he paced as the elevator dropped the three floors to the war room. At the sound of the elevator doors opening, Aram and Samar lifted their heads simultaneously in his direction as he stepped out of the yellow box. Walking briskly toward them, he was speaking before he reached them.

"Aram, anything yet?"

"No. Nothing. Everything is going straight to voicemail. I left a message, but-"

"Ping her cell phone again. Track her GPS. Keep trying." His own phone hung uselessly in his hand, her number on speed dial still visible from his multiple attempts to reach her.

"I'm on it," Aram replied, busying himself at his computer.

"What happened?" Samar asked as Ressler reached them.

He exhaled heavily. "I don't know." He shook his head, not telling her that he was pretty damn sure Tom Keen had been what happened. "She was literally an arm's length away from me and got a phone call and she stepped away. I was talking to one of the evidence guys, turned and there was no sign of her. No one saw her leave."

"And you're sure she did leave?" Samar leaned back on her desk, her hands gripping the desk at her sides.

Ressler threw her a look. He'd searched the entire blood splattered scene for her, stepping over bodies and tech guys before finding himself back at their SUV. She was not on site. "Yes."

"Then could this be Tom related? The phone call she received?"

Ressler looked at his own phone in frustration, the signal for Aram to try again to reach Liz. Aram complied, his eyes darting to his computer screen again. Ressler didn't look at either of them, his jaw set, restraining from letting rip at the man again. "That would be my guess."

"Really? But if he called her, why wouldn't she say anything?" Aram asked, still running every trace he could think of to try and locate her phone.

"You tell me," Ressler answered, his eyes raising to see Cooper coming down the metal stairs toward them. Liz was blind where Tom was concerned and this was not going to end well. His gut churned as Cooper joined them.

"Aram, any luck tracing her?"

"No, sir."

Ressler rattled his keys, still held in his left hand. "Sir, we can't just sit here. Keen's out there and…" And not in a good place. Again the flash of memory of her against him, sobbing into his shoulder washed over him.

"We have a BOLO out on Tom. That should-"

Ressler grimaced. "I don't give a damn about him right now." Cooper flashed him a look, while Aram ducked his eyes and stared intently at his computer screen again. "Liz is who I'm-"

Samar looked to Ressler. "But if she'd heard from Tom, she'd go to him-"

"Shit!" Ressler was already running for the elevator. "Agnes! She'd go for Agnes first!"

"He's right," Cooper nodded, snapped his fingers at Samar to follow Ressler. "Go! Get to her apartment!"

Ressler hurtled into the elevator, slammed the Up button and stood there, cursing the slowness of the yellow box. "Come on, come on, come on," he whispered as Samar ran in beside him, throwing her jacket on.

"Hey," she said, searching his eyes. "She'll be okay," she told him, eyeing him as the elevator began its ascent to the parking lot.

"We don't know that," he hissed. "Not when Tom Keen is in the mix."

With Samar running behind him as the elevator doors opened, he ran for the SUV, unlocking the doors before they got to it. He gunned the engine and squealed out of the parking lot, his mind on one person. One location. He had to get to her apartment. Beside him, Samar had only just got her seatbelt on and was hanging on to the handle above her head.

"I'm sure she's-"

Ressler didn't look at her, his eyes scanning the road in front of him, throwing on the lights and siren as he drove under the lights of the city streets. At the determination and something else far deeper in his eyes, Samar didn't finish what she was going to say. There was no reassuring him.

As they flew through an intersection, their siren and flashing lights clearing the way ahead, Ressler's phone rang in his pocket.

"Here, I can answer it," Samar offered at the speed of his driving, reaching for it.

When he saw Cooper's ID, he didn't give it to her and with one hand gripping the wheel, he answered as Cooper's voice came on the line.

"Dembe called. Liz and Tom are both gravely injured, and-" Ressler gasped as Samar shot a look at him from the passenger seat. "Reddington is heading to DC General with them. Driving a black Ford Galaxie down Florida. I have an escort enroute to intercept them."

Ressler yelled over to Samar, "Get onto Metro PD. Liz is down! We need roads cleared from her apartment all the way to D.C. General!"

"Oh, God," she gasped, dialing the number.

Cooper was still in Ressler's ear. "Tom has been stabbed, probably shot too, and Elizabeth has a severe head injury. Ressler, get to them. Clear the road for them. Aram and I are leaving now for the hospital." Cooper was gone as Ressler dropped his phone into his pocket, eyes staring down the lighted city street before him as his heart hammered in his chest. He took the next right turn, screaming through the intersection, now with a different destination.

"This is Agent Samar Navabi. We have an agent down. We're requesting emergency escort. Roads blocked from Sixth and Florida to DC General. This is a life and death situation!"

As she hung up, Ressler quickly relayed what Cooper had said. Ten blocks later they met the first police cruiser, strobes flashing as they rushed through the intersection. And further behind the police car came the black Ford Galaxie with Dembe driving, followed by two police bikes.

"There!" Samar cried.

"I know! I know!" Ressler gunned the accelerator to get in front of Dembe to escort him, falling in behind the cruiser in front. His eyes flew to the rear view mirror, despite the speed he was driving. But it was a straight shot now to the hospital. Ressler couldn't see into the vehicle behind them. Liz was in there. Bleeding. Dying. He gasped again as Samar's eyes met his briefly.

Samar was on the phone again. "This is Agent Samar Navabi of the FBI. We are enroute to your Emergency Department. We have two victims in critical condition. A male with multiple stab wounds and a possible gunshot wound, and a female with severe head trauma."

Ressler shot her another look at the words 'severe head trauma'. For a moment, all he could feel was Liz's long hair on his hands as he'd held her.

Samar listened a moment more, "Yes, you should be able hear our sirens very soon. We're almost there," she said above the sound of the sirens, and hung up, facing Ressler. "We'll get there!" she called to him, as two more bikes joined their escort to tear on ahead to the next major intersection, lights blazing and flashing as they stopped the traffic on every cross street, giving them a clear shot to DC General.

Of that, Ressler had no doubt. They would get there. But would Liz still be alive by the time they did? Chest heaving as every muscle in his body shook imperceptibly, driving up his heart rate and respiration, he gripped the steering wheel and stole another glance in the rear view again. Nothing. Maybe the brief outline of white shirt sleeves on Red. Maybe Liz's white blouse. Liz. Oh, God, Liz, his mind screamed.

Following the police car with their own lights reflecting off the buildings around them they tore down Florida and behind them came Dembe with his precious, bleeding cargo. Beside him, Samar had her GPS open on her phone again. "Six more blocks!"

He nodded, eyes on the road again, both of them lit up in the red and blue flashing of their lights, and those of the police around them. He didn't look back now. Eyes focused as they neared the hospital, he saw the building ahead. As the lead bikes dropped down a ramp into the Emergency Department, followed by the Metro PD police cruiser in front of them, Ressler followed them down the concrete tunnel into the hospital. He stole a look behind him as Dembe followed, then drew his eyes forward again, coming into the underground area where doctors were standing by with two gurneys, and a large crew poised for action.

Following the Police car's lead, Ressler squealed into a parking spot, slammed it into park and was out the vehicle and running before Samar had even exited. Before he reached the double doors, Dembe pulled in and flew out of the driver's seat, opening the back door behind him as the medics surged forward. Ressler ran for the other rear door as Red exited. And for a moment, everything seemed to slow around him as Ressler came to a halt at Red's side, meeting the criminals haunted eyes. The pain matched what he was sure was in his own. Their girl was near death.

A strangled, "Donald," was all Red managed before the two men were jostled aside as the medics flew around to their side of the car to retrieve Liz from the back seat. And finally Ressler saw her, and stepped back involuntarily, gasping. It was worse than he'd imagined. Pale, looking as if the life had already fled her body, her hair matted and bloody, contrasting starkly with the white pillow. Glancing into the back of the car, the blood pool on back seat slammed his mind back to another blood pool and bloodied hair. Hitchin had died from a wound like this.

"No!" he hissed, as he felt Red's arm on his.

"Donald, stay with her," Red whispered, falling into the front passenger seat as Dembe held the door for him.

Samar was beside him and with a last nod to Red, they jogged through the doors, following the two gurneys. Tom was in front, and Ressler hadn't got a look at him yet, followed by Liz. Unable to draw his eyes from the terrible red pool on the pillow under her head he followed silently. There was nothing he could do. He couldn't hold her this time and tell her it was gonna be okay. She wasn't okay. And nor was he.

As the doors to an Observation room stood open before them, the two gurneys were quickly wheeled inside, and slowly he came to a halt, standing by Samar as Liz and Tom were positioned at their stations. Through the glass, the bright hospital lights shone above the two gurneys as the activity increased around them. More medical staff flooded the room and slowly Ressler and Samar walked to stand at the glass, sure they'd not obstruct anyone now.

"My, God," Samar whispered, as she stood to the left of him. He himself couldn't utter a word, only stand and scream inwardly, as doctors yelled commands on the other side of the glass and prepared to intubate Liz. He was going to lose her. He couldn't lose her! He was going to! No! Heart hammering in his chest and every breath an effort he scanned the room, trying to see through the crowds to the monitors to see if she was still alive.

And now the activity increased on the other side of the room, and for the first time he tore his eyes off Liz to look toward Tom. The man was a bloodied mess, his shirt cut open revealing his chest as paddles were coming into play, shocking him violently. With a high pitched whine and a jolt that made his body lurch, Tom's chest was shocked with the paddles. And somewhere in the back of his reeling mind Ressler heard the continual screaming beep of a flat line on the monitor.

No! he cried inwardly, eyes fleeing back to Liz. An ER doctor was calling for the neurosurgeon to get there stat, and taking hold of a drill. A drill that was going to go into Liz's skull. No!

"Clear!" a doctor yelled and again, Tom's body lurched at the shock. And still the flat line screamed out from the monitor. In a daze, Ressler saw it all, heard it all, but it was as if he were standing a million miles away, out of his own body. The doctors, shouted commands, the shock of the paddles on Tom again, the incessant long beep, the flurry of activity inside the room all became a terrifying blur.

But the sound of a drill startled him and brought him careening back to reality. The neurosurgeon had arrived and was drilling a hole into Liz's skull. Oh, God! Ressler gulped in air. The surgeon drilled a moment more then stopped, withdrawing a gloved and bloodied hand from the back of Liz's head. Liz didn't even look like she was breathing or alive. Ressler thought he might stop breathing himself. He couldn't lose her!

"I need that OR now!" the surgeon yelled to someone running down the hallway behind Ressler.

"We're ready! We have the team in place!"

At that, more activity erupted in the room as Liz's gurney was wheeled out, this time complete with a network of equipment and monitors surrounding her still form. Ressler stepped aside quickly as more medical staff ran to them as Liz was whipped away and taken toward doors that said "No Admittance". Blood poured from the back of her head, dripping on the floor in a trail behind the gurney, splattering all over the clean tile floor and the running legs of the medics wheeling her away. As Ressler took all of this in, the flat line on the monitor still screamed behind him. Following Liz with his eyes he realized for the first time that Cooper and Aram were there too.

As Liz disappeared through the doors to the OR the four of them stood in silence. Aram and Samar held hands, Cooper's eyes closed for a moment, then met Ressler's eyes. The silence that hit them all when the scream of the flat line on the heart monitor suddenly ceased startled them. And as one they turned as all activity ceased in the Observation room. Aram gasped, and Samar turned toward him as a sheet was pulled up, covering Tom's face and head. Tom had lost the fight. Ressler gazed at the still form as lights were dimmed in the room. After flipping off switches on the equipment, the medics filed out respectfully, and a nurse spoke to their gathered group.

"I'm very sorry. We did everything we could but the injuries he sustained were too great. If you'd like to spend a few moments with him, you're very welcome to," she said softly, then quietly stepped away, leaving them alone with the body of Tom Keen.

Ressler stayed outside as Cooper, Aram and Samar filed in. He dropped his eyes when Cooper gently removed the sheet from Tom's head as the three of them bowed their heads around him. Outside the room, Ressler stood silently. The man who'd been a thorn in his side for years was no more. There was no joy in that, no vindication, no relief, not even anger. Though he knew himself well enough to know that would resurface. He felt only sorrow and loss. Liz had loved him, and they had all done everything to find the man today and get him to a hospital in time to save him. Whatever Tom had been involved with, he didn't deserve to die like this.

Ressler turned, left the other three with Tom and walked back down the hallway. Her blood trail marked the path they had taken, and with a gasp he tore his eyes from the splattered floor to focus on the double doors leading to the OR. Liz was in there, on an operating table with surgeons working on her brain trying to save her life. He reached the doors, stopped and leaned against the wall opposite. This was the closest he could get to Liz right now, and he was not going to leave her. And unable to stand a moment longer, his body sagged and he slid down the wall to sit on the floor, elbows on his raised knees. He stared at the closed doors in front of him and despite his attempts not to look, his eyes traveled to the blood stained floor once more.

"Don't leave me…" he whispered, "Please, Liz…"

Inevitably his mind returned to her crying against him. So alive and right there with him, living and breathing in his arms. He'd held her close in comfort and support and had told her it was going to be okay.

But he'd been wrong.


	2. Worst Case Scenario

Ressler was still sitting on the floor, having ignored two nurses who told him he couldn't stay there. Only one had asked if he was okay, to which he'd just stared at her in response. She didn't ask again. A cleanup crew arrived and efficiently mopped Liz's blood from the floor and Ressler hated them for their cavalier attitude. It was just something to be cleaned up to them. Something mundane in their evening at work.

Cooper, Aram and Samar were outside the observation room, as if guarding Tom, or standing vigil over him. Aram's arm was around Samar's waist. And understanding he needed some space, they had not joined Ressler yet, leaving him to his own thoughts for now. Ressler's phone rang, sounding loud and jarring in the silent hallway, in stark contrast to the drama that had taken place when they'd arrived 30 minutes ago. Liz had been in the OR almost 20 minutes now. The caller ID showed "Unknown Caller" but Ressler knew who it was even before he answered.

"Donald," Reddington said on the end of the line, then paused.

Ressler saved him the pain of asking. "She's still alive. Barely." He sighed, leaned his head forward and continued. "She's in the OR. They're working on her brain…" He heard Reddington's intake of air in his ear.

"And Tom?"

Ressler looked to his right, to the dimly lit end of the hallway where his colleagues clustered. "He didn't make it." And he'd barely said the words when he heard the line go dead as Red hung up. Footsteps approached as he returned his phone to his pocket. Cooper had left Aram and Samar and was heading his way.

"Reddington, I take it?" Cooper asked gently.

"Yeah," Ressler answered, gathering his legs under him and standing up beside his boss.

"I'll go talk to him, father to father," Cooper said, "assuming he is still parked outside," he added, then patted Ressler's shoulder and headed toward the exit. Ressler stood alone, shoving his hands in his pockets as a man with a clipboard and paperwork stopped Cooper in the hallway, speaking in hushed tones. Cooper answered, "He has a mother, but she's incarcerated. I may be able to get in touch with his father. I will certainly let you know if I can get more information on next of kin for you."

As Cooper left, the man with the clipboard approached, nodded to Ressler then headed toward the observation room. Aram and Samar moved aside to let him pass, then as the man made a few notes on his all-important clipboard, they both walked to where Ressler was standing.

"You okay?" Samar asked, coming up beside him.

He exhaled heavily and again looked at the double doors to the OR. "I just need her to be okay," he said, evading her question. Aram looked like he wanted to hug him. Ressler stepped back out of arm's reach.

As the registrar came back up to them, leaving Tom's body alone in the now dark room, he slowed. "There is a surgical waiting room on the 1st floor. You can wait there and the surgeon will come and update you once…" he looked at his clip board, "once Mrs. Keen is out of surgery. I'll make a note that you're waiting for updates."

Mrs. Keen. Ressler hadn't even thought of Liz in that regard in the last two weeks. It sounded foreign, as if the name did not belong to her. She's a widow. It hit him all of a sudden and he turned away, blinking rapidly.

At their hesitation, the registrar added, "You'll get word quicker up there. That's the first place they call with updates."

"Thank you," Samar told him and he left, continuing down the corridor with whatever information he'd needed to obtain.

Aram looked to Ressler for confirmation. "Should we, uh, go wait up there?"

Ressler waited a moment more, looked to the doors to the OR, then nodded. They turned to walk down the hallway they'd come in and found the elevators. As they hit the button for the first floor, Cooper rejoined them. "Any word?" he asked, and they shook their heads as they ascended. Finding the main waiting area, they settled into a small alcove off to one side with three couches, reading material on a small coffee table in the center, and a muted TV in one corner. Aram and Samar sat together. Ressler leaned against the wall, too edgy to sit, while Cooper took one of the other couches.

Small talk ensued among them, but Ressler wasn't listening. He'd resisted the urge to look up brain injuries on his phone, telling himself not to do that to himself. But now he did so. And wished he hadn't. None of it sounded good. In fact, most of it sounded downright terrible. Problems with mobility and motor functions, speech and visual problems, personality changes, as well as coma or death, which seemed to be listed everywhere he looked. He shut off his phone, unable to get the image of the blood pouring from her head out of his mind. Just like Hitchin, as she died.

After a few minutes, Aram was squirming at the silence. "Um, I could go find us some coffee, maybe?"

Cooper smiled. "That would be great, Aram, thank you."

As Aram and Samar left together in search of 4 cups of coffee, Cooper looked to Ressler.

"I found our mutual friend. He was still parked outside waiting. He's hanging in there."

Ressler nodded, and had the urge to go down himself and talk to Reddington. He'd been there with Liz while all Ressler had seen was a mad scramble of flashing lights through city streets, before she'd been strapped to a gurney and whisked away. But he then conceded that part of him wasn't ready to hear it. Nor would Red be willing to share that just yet. If ever. Not with Liz's fate this uncertain. He nodded imperceptibly. He understood Reddington. They were both hurting. Both terrified for her. Both loved her.

"How about you?" Cooper asked quietly. "You hanging in there?"

Perhaps Cooper saw the same look in Ressler's eyes that he himself had seen in Red's. That barely suppressed dread and panic that threatened to erupt at any moment. He hesitated, then looked to his boss. "So far."

So far. Because if things got worse. If Liz was the one with a sheet draped over her lifeless form, he couldn't make any promises on that. Through his constricted chest, he took a deep breath, trying not to recall his life right after he'd seen Liz dead in the van with Reddington at her side the year before. He could not handle that twice.

Cooper looked away as Aram and Samar returned, each carrying two cups of coffee. Samar placed them on the small table, then fished sugar and creamer packets and coffee stirrers out of her pocket. "Sorry, can't vouch for the quality, but it's hot," she said, doctoring her own coffee and settling back on the couch. Aram hesitated, got another coffee ready and handed it to Ressler.

Ressler took the cup from him. "Thanks." He wasn't sure he could stomach the coffee, but the warmth seeping through the small foam cup in his hand felt good against his clenched muscles. But not for long. Images of Liz on a table with her skull open and doctors poking around her bleeding brain kept coming to the fore. How much longer was she going to be in there? Was she even still alive?

After a few sips of coffee, Ressler placed his half drank coffee back on the small table. "I gotta stretch my legs," he said, and not waiting for an answer, he walked from the small room. The main waiting area was empty save for a man and woman in one corner, each engrossed in their cell phones. The city lights shone to his left as he approached the window, and leaning against the wall, he gazed out into the night.

Unsure of how long he'd been standing there watching the city below him, finding some solace in the darkness, a phone rang on the reception table nearby. He didn't answer it, but the man from the other side of the room did. He then placed the phone on the desk.

"It's for the family of Mrs. Keen," he said, looking straight at Ressler.

The family. The words melted through his own brain. They were family. Cooper, Samar and Aram had obviously heard the guy too as they were approaching as Ressler picked up the phone.

"Hello," he said, his voice cracking slightly.

The voice came on the other end as he gripped the phone, his knuckles whitening. "This is Nurse Brenda in the OR. Dr. Harris wanted to let your party know that Mrs. Keen has been very unstable, but the surgery is progressing. They've had to stop twice to resuscitate her and do CPR, but are still working on the brain bleed." Ressler's eyes flashed to the three waiting expectantly as he listened. "It looks to be about another hour before she will be done, if there are no more complications," the nurse finished. Her voice was kindly, yet the words were businesslike, making sure she relayed the correct information.

"Thank you," he told her, his face a mask of concern, then replaced the phone in its cradle.

"Oh, God. She's dead, isn't she…? Aram said, as Samar shushed him.

"No, she's alive. For now," Ressler told them, relaying what the nurse had told him, and forcing himself not to think about the effects of traumatic brain injury he'd been reading up on.

"But she's died twice in the OR already," Samar said, looking at Ressler. He inhaled and looked away. If she crashed again in there and they were unable to bring her back...

"But that's good, right, that she'll be done in an hour?" Aram said, eyes darting to all of them.

"It's very good, Aram," Cooper agreed, looking to Ressler.

Ressler wasn't listening. Liz had already died twice in the OR in the last hour. Died twice! And he had no idea what had brought this about. Who had done this? Why was she in this condition? What the hell had happened that caused Liz to be this close to death and had killed Tom? Reddington would know. He had brought them in. Without a word he turned and strode for the elevator banks. That son of a bitch would know and he was damn well going to find out.

"Agent Ressler?" Aram asked.

"Aram, let him go," Cooper sighed.

###

Ressler was down on the first floor and striding out the doors they'd come in and walked into the underground parking area again. He scanned the cars and then spotted the Ford Galaxie. Dembe had moved from the doors and was parked toward the back in semi darkness. Ressler walked, his hands clenched as he left the Emergency Department. As he approached the car, Reddington was barely visible in the back seat. Number 4 on the FBI's most wanted list was being careful not to be seen, but Ressler saw him. He broke into a jog, fists clenched and eyes burning.

Dembe jumped out of the driver's seat and held his hand up, halting Ressler in his tracks. "Agent Ressler, I understand you are upset. Unless you have news of Elizabeth's condition, I must ask you to leave Raymond alone at this time."

"The hell I will." Ressler moved to the side, staring right into Reddington's eyes. "I need to talk to him, Dembe. Get out of my way."

Dembe's hand was on Ressler's chest, stopping him.

"Get the hell off me." Ressler's voice was even and controlled, but burned with anger.

"It's okay, Dembe. Give us a few minutes."

At Red's instructions, Dembe stepped aside and walked a few feet away, but kept his eyes on Ressler.

Opening the back door, Ressler climbed in and sat across from Reddington in the back seat.

"You have news on Elizabeth," Red said as a statement, not a question, attempting to defuse the look in Ressler's eyes.

"She's still alive, but has died twice in the OR in the last hour. They got her back each time and are still working on her brain bleed," Ressler told him, struggling to maintain his control.

Red shook his head and gazed through the front windscreen. His eyes were tired, drawn and looked far into the distance.

"We could lose her and I don't even know what the hell brought this about!" Ressler scowled, clenching his sweaty palms and glaring at Reddington. "What the hell happened? Who did this to her?"

"Donald, now is not the time. Elizabeth is not out of the woods yet."

"I know that! I was the one who just spoke to the damn nurse. I know she's not out of the woods!"

Red simply looked at him.

"If you know anything!" Ressler said, leaning forward to Red, shouting, "I need to know who did this to her!"

Outside, Dembe took half a step closer then stopped at Red's shake of his head.

Red met his eyes. There was no anger, only resignation, exhaustion and a deep pain. Ressler faltered, but pressed on. "She's dying in there," he said, a slight crack in his voice as he pointed back to the hospital, "and I need to know why!"

"I know," Red said, wiping a blood stained hand over his eyes. "I know you do."

With an effort, Ressler calmed somewhat, "Please tell me. I can't make any sense of this," he asked the criminal, leaning back from Red. "Please."

Red chewed his lip, then spoke. "I don't know all of the pieces yet. But the man who did this has wanted leverage over me for some time. He found that leverage."

When Ressler kept silent, gritting his teeth, Red continued. "Or, Tom found that leverage, I should say, and the man found him. It's the reason Nik Korpal died, and now Tom."

"Shit. I knew it. I KNEW it had to do with damn Tom Keen," Ressler hissed, finally putting some pieces together. "And Liz walked right in on it after she left me." The words echoed in his head. She had left him after Tom called, went straight to him and almost lost her life doing it. A trail of bodies was connected to this, and Liz could still join that number. He'd seen that first hand at the wood chipper that afternoon while looking for Tom. Well, that son of a bitch, no good husband of hers could hurt his family no longer.

A thought suddenly hit Ressler, and he gasped. "Agnes?!" He couldn't believe he had forgotten the baby in all of this. "Is she-"

"She wasn't in the apartment. I have to assume she is safe with the nanny."

Ressler exhaled and leaned back in the seat.

"But what matters now, Donald, is Elizabeth's wellbeing. I can't linger here all night. I've stayed too long as it is," Reddington said, looking squarely at Ressler. "I need you to stay with our girl." Red's hand patted Ressler's knee. "Stay with her and I will call you and check on her at regular intervals. Dembe and I will return to the apartment and see if we can find anything else. We left in…rather a hurry."

Ressler nodded. "I'll get hold of the babysitter," he said, his mind racing now. They needed to know if the baby was safe.

"Thank you, Donald." Red motioned to Dembe, who'd been hovering nearby the whole time and the man walked back over to the car. With some answers now, or rather information that posed more questions, Ressler put his hand on the door handle to exit the car. Red grabbed his arm in a swift movement.

"Promise me you will not do anything rash."

The statement took Ressler by surprise. Right now he was just managing to breathe and keep his head above water. The time for rashness had not yet arrived. But as usual, Reddington was three steps ahead.

"Promise me," Red repeated.

Ressler met his eyes intently, "If I find out who did this to her, I can't promise I can let it go."

Red's hand gripped his arm harder. "That's what Tom Keen said. He refused to let it go and walk away." They both knew the result of that decision.

Ressler looked away as Red patted his forearm. "I can't lose you, Donald. And Elizabeth most certainly cannot. Promise me you will at least come to me first if and when you find something to pursue."

Ressler nodded to the criminal. That he could promise. "I will."

"Thank you," said Red, patting Ressler's arm once more before removing his hand.

Ressler studied the criminal. He looked like he'd aged 10 years. He couldn't vouch for how he himself looked either. "I'll stay with her," he said, and would have done that regardless of what Reddington had asked of him.

"I know you will," Red replied, then looked away. Ressler hesitated a moment longer, then opened the door to stand back in the parking garage where Dembe was waiting by the car.

"Goodnight, Agent Ressler," Dembe said before he sat in the driver's seat. Ressler nodded to the black man, glanced at Red one more time, then stood in the parking garage as Dembe drove off, heading back up the ramp to the waiting city.

###

After reentering the hospital, Ressler headed straight for the observation room. Tom's body was still there, and two gowned men were with him, preparing to wheel the covered gurney to the morgue.

"Wait," Ressler said to them, flashing his badge. He didn't have time to screw around with jurisdiction. "FBI. I came in with him. I need to see if he has a phone on him."

"His personal effects are in this bag," one of the men said, reaching behind him and handing the bag to Ressler. Inside the bag was a wallet, keys, a watch, a wedding ring, and a cell phone. He reached into the bag and took the phone.

"Thanks, this is all I need," he told them, then stepped aside as they wheeled the gurney out of the room. The babysitter's number wasn't the only thing Ressler wanted on Tom's phone. Somewhere in there had to be a clue as to what he'd been up to. That leverage that Reddington had spoken of. Turning the phone on, he opened the contacts, and was thumbing through them for one name. Rosa. He'd heard Liz say her name often enough to know she was the nanny. He found the number, pulled his own phone out and dialed it. As he waited for it to answer, he stepped into the elevator to head back up to the waiting room.

He was stepping out of the elevator when the woman answered, and halted outside the surgical waiting room. Her voice was unsure, not recognizing his number at this time of night.

"This is Special Agent Donald Ressler. I am Liz Keen's partner. I need to ask you if you are her child's nanny and if you have Agnes Keen with you tonight." He said it in a rush, businesslike, but inside his heart was hammering. If Agnes was not there…

"Oh, my, yes, I have her here," she replied and Ressler exhaled in relief. "I've been trying to call Liz but she's not picking up."

Ressler looked down, eyes on the shiny tile floor as he held the phone to his ear. All he could see in his mind's eye was the blood trail that the janitors had mopped up earlier. He snapped his eyes shut. "There's been an…incident. Liz is in the hospital and in surgery right now."

"Oh!"

Ressler continued, "Is it possible for you to keep Agnes there with you tonight?"

The woman was flustered, "Yes, I can keep her, sure. But what about Tom? Is he not able to get her?"

Ressler hesitated. "No, he's not able to," he answered, clenching his teeth. "You have my number. If anything changes with Agnes, please call me."

"Yes! Yes, I will take care of her. She's no trouble at all. I'm happy to help," she said, regaining her composure now. "But what happened with Liz that she is in surgery? It sounds serious!"

Ressler couldn't answer that. "We'll know more tomorrow. Thank you," he told Rosa, and hung up before she could ask any more questions. He slipped his phone into his pocket and walked back into the waiting room. The others had returned to the small alcove room, and Cooper stood as Ressler entered.

"Everything okay?" he asked, then winced. Everything was certainly not okay. "I mean…"

Ressler knew what he meant. "I spoke to Reddington." He didn't elaborate on what he'd found out in their conversation. "He's gone back to Liz's apartment."

"We've been wondering about Agnes," Samar said as Aram nodded beside her.

"The nanny has her. She's safe." For now, he thought.

"Oh, thank God!" Aram said, dropping back in the seat. "If anything had happened to her…"

The phone in the waiting room rang behind them. Ressler raced to it and picked it up on the third ring.

"Yes?"

"Is this the party waiting for news on Mrs. Keen?" the woman on the other end said. It was a different voice from before. Ressler's heart was in his mouth, dreading hearing what the woman was calling for.

"It is, yes," Ressler answered.

"Mrs. Keen is all finished in the OR. We're moving her to recovery, and the surgeon will be up to talk to you shortly."

"But, how is she?" Ressler asked, gripping the phone.

"The doctor will be up to talk to you soon," she said, then hung up. Ressler stood there with the phone in his hand, as he stared at the others.

"Well?"

"What?"

"What did they say?"

A chorus of questions met him. "She's out of the OR. Doctor will tell us what's going on soon," he said, and slowly placed the phone back in its cradle again.

"Which means… what?" Aram said.

"I don't know," Ressler said, shoving his hands in his pockets.

"That's all they said?" Samar asked.

"That's all she said, yes!" he hissed and turned away, running his hands through his hair.

10 minutes later an elevator dinged, and the surgeon who had initially drilled the hole in Liz's skull strode out to meet them. Still dressed in green scrubs, he removed his surgical hat as he stopped in front of them. Ressler eyed the man silently, not trusting himself to speak.

"Dr. Harris," he introduced himself. "I just did the surgery on Mrs. Keen."

"How is she?"

"Is she okay?"

"Let the man speak," said Cooper, ever the voice of reason. "Doctor, please continue."

"Take a seat," the doctor said, motioning to the chairs nearby. As the surgeon, Cooper, Aram and Samar sat, Ressler stood silently. He was just not able to sit to hear this. With a glance up at him, the surgeon spoke.

"Mrs. Keen is very unstable. We did manage to repair the damage to her brain and skull, and she is going to be receiving blood for a while to get her back to where she needs to be."

"When can we see her?" Ressler asked.

"She'll be in critical care ICU tonight, with a nurse assigned only to her. We only allow one visitor under these conditions."

Each of them looked to Ressler. He nodded. He wasn't leaving her side.

"But how is she doing, doctor? What is her prognosis?" Cooper asked.

The doctor looked to each of them in turn, landing on Ressler. "I'm not going to sugar coat this. She's suffered a lot of damage to her brain. Her recovery is likely to be long and difficult."

"Oh, my…" Aram whispered. Samar took his hand in hers.

"It's too early to tell if she will have mobility or speech issues, or need occupational and physical therapy. Our focus tonight is on keeping her stable. If she makes it through the next 24 hours, her chances increase by a good 50%"

Aram gasped beside Samar. "You mean, she could still die?" she asked.

"I'm sorry, but yes, she could. There was significant damage," the surgeon emphasized.

Ressler closed his eyes and looked away at that.

"Oh, no," Aram said, looking like he was about to burst into tears.

"Doctor, when do you expect her to wake up?" Cooper asked, "I assume you'll want to keep her sedated for a while?"

The surgeon looked at each of them again. Ressler knew by the look in his eyes he was holding the worst till last. He held his breath.

"I'm afraid we didn't need to sedate her. The brain is a complex organ. It is very adept at protecting itself, and hers is doing just that. She lapsed into a coma before she left the OR. At this point, we do not know when she will wake up. It could be days. Weeks. Months. Or worst case scenario… she could remain in a coma for years, or never wake up."

Never. Ressler staggered, catching the reception desk behind him to steady him as his mind reeled. Around him the others had erupted, firing questions at the surgeon who was attempting to answer them. Ressler wasn't listening. Liz might never wake up!

The surgeon was speaking again, holding out his hands to quiet them all. "That's worst case scenario, but needed to be said. However, with my experience with traumatic brain injuries, I would not envisage this continuing for that long."

"How long?" Ressler asked, finding his voice.

"I think you all need to prepare yourselves for this being a long haul of several months."

Beside him, Aram and Samar hugged as they both broke down. Cooper shook the surgeon's hand as they both stood, thanking him for all he'd done.

And Ressler stood among them all, wanting to scream.


	3. Code Blue

Ressler thought he was prepared. Or, as prepared as he could be once they had Liz settled in the ICU and finally allowed him in. Cooper, Aram and Samar were still in the waiting room, unwilling to leave the hospital just yet. Liz lay in a bed, barely seen among the tubes, wires and IV’s on her. As he stood in the doorway, the nurse inside was checking Liz’s IV’s and lines. Ressler hesitated and she turned. She was older than he’d first thought and for a moment she reminded him of his own mother.

She smiled at him, “It’s okay, you can come on in, hon, just turn your cell phone off first,” she told him, then returned to checking the lines.

Complying, he turned off his phone with a momentary thought of Reddington who now wouldn’t be able to call him. He stepped inside, then took a few tentative steps to find himself on the opposite side of the bed from the nurse. He gasped. Liz looked dead. His eyes flashed to the nurse who now turned to him. “I know, it’s hard. She’s had a rough time of it. She’s critical, and what we call low-stable.”

Ressler nodded to the nurse, then returned his gaze to Liz’s pale, almost translucent features. The slightly purple rings under her eyes were only color on her face. He couldn’t tear his eyes from her. From under a huge bandage, a drainage tube and a myriad of wires snaked away from her head. Her dark hair lay on the white pillow, framing her pale face. She looked as if she’d break if he dared touch her. With tears now blurring his eyes, he took a shuddering breath. Coming into focus now were the whirs and beeps of the bank of monitors and IV poles on the other side of the bed, where the nurse now sat down.

Finding a chair on his side of the bed, Ressler backed into it, then dragged it closer, wincing at the loud scraping on the floor. Closer now, he sat down, still staring at Liz’s motionless face, or what he could see behind the ventilator. How could she survive this? It didn’t seem possible. A machine was breathing for her, and IV’s were supplying her with blood and fluids. Her brain had been bleeding, and who knows what damage had been caused. Her pale hand lay near him, and gently he touched his fingers to her skin. She felt cold and he snatched his hand back.

“You can hold her hand, hon, just mind the IV,” the nurse said quietly. He’d forgotten she was there, and nodded without meeting her eyes. Again, his fingers found her hand and this time he cupped her cold hand in his warm one, careful not to touch the IV on the back of her hand. And at her touch, and the inability of his hand to warm her cold skin he dropped his head as tears rolled free. He brushed them aside with his free hand, raising his head to look at her face again.

He sat silently for some time, the only movement in the room was the nurse who checked Liz like clockwork every few minutes, taking her vitals and checking IVs and lines. Still holding her hand, Ressler’s eyes were scanning the monitors. Everything was low, just as the nurse had said. Nurse Debbie, as he had seen written on the board by the door, the one who’d been in the OR with Liz. Scanning the room, he had a pretty good idea what half the equipment was. The purpose of the mobile cart inside the door was clear. The crash cart. The one they scramble for on those Code Blues he’d seen on TV shows. His eyes settled again on one monitor whose purpose he couldn’t ascertain. And curious, settling into his established place in the room now, he spoke to the nurse.

“What is that?” he asked as softly as he could, afraid to wake Liz. He then swallowed hard. There was no waking Liz currently.

“This?” Nurse Debbie asked, looking above her to a monitor that had multiple colored lines running across it. Ressler nodded. “It’s her brain activity. As you can see, despite the injury and trauma, she’s still very much alive in there. Activity is definitely subdued, but it’s there.”

Ressler gasped. And after that, his gaze returned to the monitor repeatedly. Those lines moving across the monitor were the only sign that Liz was still in there. That her brain was down, but not out. And what had been a curiosity at first slowly became comforting. As long as those lines stayed, Liz had a chance.

###

An hour later, an alarm blared in the room and Nurse Debbie sprang into action. She slammed a big blue button on the wall above the bed before she grabbed the crash cart and brought it up beside Liz. In the ICU a speaker broadcast, “Code Blue ICU Room 4. Code Blue ICU Room 4.” Ressler let go of Liz’s hand and stepped back as two more nurses ran in.

“Outside,” one of them said to him, moving quickly past him.

“What is it?” he asked, stepping backward, but no one heard him or answered. And in the next moment, he didn’t need an answer. He saw what it was. Her heart rate was dropping fast. In the 30s, and now the 20s. He was jostled aside as one of the nurses came around his side of the bed.

“I need you to wait outside, sir,” she told him firmly. He complied, and the last thing he saw on the monitor was Liz’s heart rate. 12.

The sound of running feet met him in the hallway as her surgeon appeared along with two more staff, hurtling toward the room. Ressler pressed himself against the wall, attempting to keep out of their way, yet still endeavoring to see what was going on. But it was useless. Too many people were now between him and Liz, and he could see nothing. He could hear plenty though. And what he heard was terrifying. He’d heard it downstairs hours ago. The unmistakable sound of a flat line, and paddles being charged to shock her chest and restart her heart.

“Clear!” came the call, and the sound of the shock hit his ears, and the flat line on the monitor filled the air with its high pitched squeal.

“No!” he gasped, his hands pressing against the cold wall behind him. “No, no, no, no, no,” he begged anyone who’d hear. “Please, God, no,” he panted, tears filling his eyes as the surgeon again yelled “Clear!” and the shock sounded again.

The hallway clear now he took a step away from the wall, “Stay with me. Stay with me, please, Liz…stay…” he begged under his breath as another cry from the room met his ears.

“Sinus rhythm! It’s low, but we got a pulse!”

Ressler thought his knees would buckle. She was back. Barely. “Thank God! ” he whispered, “Liz…”

“It’s too low. Charge it again,” he heard the surgeon call out.  Ressler couldn’t bear to hear the whine of the paddles again and stumbled away. He could still hear it behind him though, as the shout of “Clear” went up again and that high pitched whine.

He found a bench seat and fell back onto it, leaning heavily against the wall behind him. He was shaking like a leaf, his own heart hammering in his chest. Relative silence filtered down now from her room. It would appear that third shock had stabilized her more. He sat there, giving his own heart rate time to calm before he reached into his pocket for his phone and turned it on. Two unanswered calls showed up, both from the No Caller ID number. Reddington. He had time to check in with Reddington while he was benched. Literally.

He heard Red’s voice on the line, “Donald, how’s our girl?” he asked.

“Not good,” he managed, his voice wavering. “Her heart just stopped again, but they got her back,” he said, still trying to control his breathing. He looked up as two nurses left Liz’s room. Things must be starting to calm down in there.

Red hesitated before replying, “It’s not going to be easy. But she’s getting the best care she can at this time, Donald.”

Ressler already knew that, and didn’t reply as his eyes still watched the doorway to Liz’s room. Another nurse left.

“I spoke with Harold, and he told me her prognosis,” Reddington continued. “I’m already looking into setting up a long term care facility.”

Ressler shook his head. He could barely think beyond the fact Liz was fighting for her life and her heart had just stopped again, yet Reddington was already looking to the future. But then, of course he was. He might be a shadow of his former self in the criminal underworld, but he was not without resources. Especially where Liz was concerned. Ressler closed his eyes momentarily, suddenly grateful for Reddington in a way he had never felt before. They were in this together.

“Thank you,” he told the criminal.

“You take care of her there while I get the new location established. Stay in touch as you can. I realize that is difficult with needing to turn off all communication when in her room.”

From down the hall, Dr. Harris left along with the other nurse. Debbie appeared in the doorway and looked down at him, motioning to him that he could return. He held his finger up in response, letting her know he understood. Ressler stood up on feet that were more steady now and spoke into the phone.

“They’re letting me back in. I need to shut my phone off.”

“Understood. And Donald, you don’t only need to call with an update, if you need anything else. Anything. Just say the word,” Red told him, then hung up.

Ressler turned off his phone and slipped it back in his pocket, hesitating a moment as he took in Red’s words. The criminal had his back, but what was stranger was that offered some measure of comfort within him. He walked down the hallway and reentered the room, to see Debbie leaning over her patient. Liz looked much the same she had before, only her heart rate was a tad lower on the monitor. Those brain waves were different too. Some more jagged, others more calm. He didn’t understand the complexities of brain waves, but still didn’t like the look of that. He took it all in within seconds as he found his chair and dragged it back to her side.

From the other side of the bed, Debbie was opening Liz’s eyes and shining a pen light in them, checking pupil reflexes. “She’s got a long road ahead of her, but she’s a fighter, this one,” she told him, smiling. Putting her penlight back in her pocket, she checked her EKG leads, then smoothed Liz’s sheets back over her, and then sat in her assigned chair beside her patient.

Ressler was on the other side of her, still a little shaky with eyes glancing up at the monitors for any change. Carefully, he took hold of her hand again, willing some warmth back into it. She was still receiving blood, and he now noticed it was a new bag. He settled back into his chair, not letting go of her, and slowly his breathing returned to normal. He didn’t sleep, but he did calm, and grew accustomed to the nurses’ monitoring routine. He could almost set his watch by her.

He hadn’t realized Debbie was watching him, until he heard her speak softly. “You look tired. I know it’s hard to rest in here though. But there is a room at the end of this hallway for caregivers and family. There are a couple of comfy couches there to stretch out on.”

Ressler gave her a small smile and shook his head. “Thanks, but I’m fine. I just need…” he looked to Liz, “to be here.”

She smiled at him. “I know.”

He liked her. She personified exactly what nurses were made of.

“I noticed you’re FBI. Is she also?” she asked.

He nodded. “She’s my partner,” and at that word a myriad of images flashed through his head. Of her at his side, him at hers, on the job, chatting, laughing, driving together, sharing their office, and doing what they did best. He inhaled heavily. Those days could be over completely.

“We’re going to do everything we can for her,” Debbie reassured him, and he nodded to her.

“I know. Thank you.”

Around 3am, a Code Blue was called on Room 5, and his heart leaped at the sound over the loud speaker. It was Deja vu as commotion erupted, doctors ran, and outside the room a man and woman clutched each other, sobbing. Debbie got up and closed their door, which helped dial back the panic somewhat. His eyes met hers and she spoke softly to him as she returned to Liz’s side. “That’s life in the ICU, hon. It’s always right on the edge. Right on that knife blade with which way it can go.”

He held Liz’s hand tighter, willing her to stay with him.

When the activity finally ceased from the room next door, it was for the reason he had dreaded with Liz. It was soon clear that the patient beside them hadn’t survived the emergency. Over the next hour, a more subdued process took place out in the hallway beyond the glass windows, as the distraught couple left, and later, a gurney covered in a blue sheet was wheeled away.

He spent the night in fear of hearing the Code Blue alarm sound, but thankfully it didn’t come again. Not to say that alarms didn’t go off, scaring the crap out of him each and every time they blared out in the silence. Usually it was her heart rate or blood pressure dropping, but they came back up each time with more meds pushed into the IV and she stabilized again.

And with Nurse Debbie on one side of her and he on the other they sat with Liz all night. And on she slept, showing no sign of waking.

###

Around 7am the next morning, he stepped out and found a small public restroom down the hall. Splashing water on his face, he looked up into the mirror, surveying the tired eyes staring back at him. He needed a shave, and a comb, and figured the gift shop would sell essentials. But that would mean leaving Liz, and he wasn’t prepared to do that for too long. Done in the small bathroom, he stepped out into the hallway, found the bench he’d sat on the night before and fired up his phone. Once again, missed calls showed up. One was from Cooper, and he dialed his number first and quickly filled him in with a summary of the night’s events.

“I’d like to take today and tomorrow to be here with her while she’s so critical, and be back Monday,” Ressler asked him, checking the time on his watch. It was 7:25am Thursday morning.

“Take what time you need, Don, to be there with her. In all honesty, it’s not like I expect to hear from Reddington with a case right now,” Cooper told him.

At the mention of him, Ressler added, “He said he’s finding a long term care facility for Liz. I know she’s going to need that, but it’s so…” He glanced at her room, at a loss for words.

“I know. I can’t believe we’re having this conversation either, Don. I’ll let you get back to her there and just keep in touch when you can. If you need anything at all, let me know.”

“Thank you, sir,” he replied, hung up and then walked back down to Liz’s room.

 “You should go get something to eat,” Debbie told him as he stepped back inside the room.

“I’m not hungry.”

“Not the first time I’ve heard that. But listen when I tell you, you need to go eat and take a few minutes for yourself. She’ll be fine. And _she’s_ getting fed, unlike some around here,” she added with a smile.

Ressler looked up at her, as Debbie indicated the tube in Liz’s nose. “NG tube, giving her nutrients.”

He’d seen it, but it was so hidden among the hardware of the vent he hadn’t paid it much attention. Being fed through a tube. Yet another thing that Liz had lost. The ability to feed herself.

“I’m here till 8am and then Charlotte will take over for me. How about you go grab a bite and then head back up before shift change?” Debbie said, interrupting his thoughts.

Ressler had grown so accustomed to her through the night, he hadn’t even thought about her shift ending and she’d go home. He nodded, and kept his eyes on Liz. “Yeah, I will. Soon.” He was still looking at Liz when there was a soft knock on the door. Looking up, he saw Samar standing there holding his duffel bag.

“Hey, they said I could bring this to you. I thought you’d appreciate a clean shirt and a shave,” she said, stepping in quietly and depositing his go bag beside him. Her eyes drifted to Liz, and she quieted. “Oh, my,” she whispered after a moment, shaking her head slowly. “Liz…”

Ressler nodded. He knew what the first view of her felt like.

Samar turned back to him. “Do you need anything else?” she asked softly. “Whatever you need, I’ll bring it.”

It struck him that everyone was offering him that. But what he needed the most was for Liz to be okay and wake up, but none of them could provide that. “I’m fine for now,” he said, thankful to have his overnight kit and a fresh change of clothes with him now. “Thanks for bringing this.” Samar turned to leave, and he stood. “I’ll come down with you, since I need to find the cafeteria,” he told her, eliciting a smile from Debbie across the bed. With a look to Liz, he headed out of the room, and down the hallway with Samar.

“Cooper managed to get in touch with Scottie Hargrave,” she said as they went down in the elevator. “Seems they may be letting her out, complete with a tracking bracelet on her ankle, to let her attend Tom’s funeral.”

Tom’s funeral. One that Liz wouldn’t attend, he thought to himself. He nodded, unsure how he was supposed to feel about Tom’s funeral. Conflicted. Angry perhaps? His recklessness was already leaving a ripple effect among those who had loved him.

As they reached the cafeteria and Samar prepared to leave, she put her hand on his arm. “Look, I know you’re going to feel like you should be back at work in a couple of days. That you’ll just take the rest of this week and the weekend and then get right back to work, but-”

“Yeah, I’ll be back on Monday.”

“Don’t rush it,” she said, turning to him. “There’s no shame in admitting that you love her. We all know how you feel and that you need to be here.”

He looked down, licking his lip and not meeting her eyes.

“You told me that once that it’s easy to lose perspective, and forget what really matters.”

He met her eyes.

“Don’t forget. Not this time.”

 


	4. Making Progress

The day passed much the same as the night had, only it was Charlotte opposite him in the room instead of Debbie. She was younger, but just as attentive to Liz as Debbie had been. Ressler admired them immensely. They were on their feet, checking Liz’s vitals, drainage tube and IV’s almost non-stop. Once an hour, they shone the penlight in Liz’s eyes, checking for any change in her pupil response. Charlotte shooed him out only once when she needed to check Liz’s Foley catheter. As Ressler came back in after grabbing a quick bathroom break himself, Dr. Harris was there. He turned to Ressler.

“Her kidneys are taking a hit. All her organs are, in fact. This is to be expected in a traumatic brain injury though and should only be temporary. Her brain will adjust to this new normal once the initial trauma passes,” he reassured Ressler, who was struggling with this new normal himself. “We’ll put her on some meds to help with her output and she should be fine in that regard. In fact, I’m satisfied with her progress.”

If progress meant that only regular alarms had sounded instead of the Code Blue alarm, Ressler would take it. He thanked the doctor, then returned to his seat as Dr. Harris left. Yesterday he’d been with Liz in the Post Office – and held her in his arms – something he couldn’t get out of his head. Today he was talking about her pee output with her brain surgeon while her husband lay dead in the morgue. Life had a way of knocking you for a loop when you least expected it.

A short while later Cooper arrived, and he and Ressler spoke in hushed tones in her room. Charlotte attended to Liz the whole time, quite used to worried family and friends in her patient’s rooms. As Cooper went to head out, he touched Ressler’s arm. “Walk with me,” he said, and the two stepped out of her room and strolled toward the nurse’s station. “I spoke with Reddington and he hasn’t said it outright, but I got the distinct impression that he’s not going to be giving us cases while Elizabeth is down.”

“Well, his priority is on getting her long term care, but I’m sure once that is done and she’s moved, he’ll give us something,” Ressler said, shaking his head. “I need more information on what the hell happened that led to… this…” As much as he needed to be here with Liz right now, he had also counted on getting back to work in a few days. Getting back into that flow of procedure that he needed with the job. And more importantly, finding out who and what had led to this turn of events.

“ _More_ information? Cooper asked, not missing that.

“Ressler sighed. “Yeah, he told me some of it last night. But he’s still holding back. No surprise there, but I need to know. I need to-”

“Don, what you need is to be here right now, while Elizabeth is so critical. Everything else can wait.”

“I know, I just…” Ressler exhaled heavily as they walked, shaking his head.

As they stopped at the elevator, Cooper patted Ressler’s shoulder. “Your place is with her, Don, and nothing else matters right now,” he reinforced.  “How are you holding up? You look tired.”

Ressler gave a short laugh. “It’s impossible to sleep here. They check her all the time. And I don’t want to leave, in case…”

Cooper nodded. “I know. It’s still touch and go with her. I know, Don.”

Ressler nodded, as Cooper patted his shoulder again and stepped into the elevator. “Take as long as you need. It doesn’t appear we’ll be getting anything from Reddington just yet.” The elevator doors closed, leaving Ressler standing in the hallway near the nurse’s station. He stopped at the small restroom before heading back to Liz’s room, and as he exited, he heard the alarms. The one he’d been dreading.

“Code Blue. ICU Room 4. Code Blue ICU Room 4.”

He was sprinting before the announcement repeated itself, joining in with the nurses running to Liz’s room.  Skidding to a halt outside, he saw Charlotte with the paddles, about to shock Liz’s chest. “Clear!”

“Oh, my God…” he whispered. “No …Liz!”

“Out of the way!” Came a cry behind him, as Dr. Harris ran toward the room. Ressler stepped back, and the doctor narrowly avoided him as he flew into the room.

Knowing the drill, he stepped further away, hearing the shout of “Clear!” again. Heart hammering, he stepped away as the activity continued in Liz’s room. He’d thought she was past this when he didn’t get a Code overnight. His phone was out of his pocket, and as he held it in shaking hands, he turned it on to call Reddington. As it fired up, he got the usual missed calls, but that wasn’t what got his attention.

There were text messages from Henry Prescott. Heart lurching in his chest, he viewed the texts. Three of them, and he’d missed them all.

[I need you to do something for me]

[I need it now]

[If I don’t hear from you in the next 10 minutes, your boss is gonna get a call]

Ressler read them quickly, seeing when they were sent, all the while hearing the commotion in Liz’s room. He couldn’t deal with Prescott right now. “Shit,” he cursed, standing and pacing, walking back up the hallway toward Liz’s room. Doctor Harris and the nurses were all still working on Liz.

“Hit her again!” Dr Harris said, and the whine of the paddles filled the air again.

“Clear!”

“Liz!” he hissed. His phone vibrated in his hand.

[2 minutes and I call your boss. What’s it gonna be?]

“Shit,” he repeated, staggering back against the wall across from Liz’s doorway. He answered the text, his hands still shaking.

[Can’t. At the hospital]

Prescott’s reply came immediately. [Unless you’re the one getting treatment, get done and get out of there. I got a job I need doing]

Breaths hissing between clenched teeth, eyes still on Liz, or what little he could see through the mass of people around her, he dragged his eyes off her to his phone and replied quickly to Prescott.

[Give me about 15 minutes]

[You got 2]

Not enough time. He needed to know Liz was okay. “Dammit!” he hissed, eyes trained back on Liz’s room.

[What do you want?] he typed, furious with the cleaner. But more furious at himself. He should never have got himself into this position.

“Clear!” the call came again, his own heart jumping in response as his phone buzzed again.

[Get access to this car. 2011 Black Jeep Patriot, License BT-3421] 

Eyes divided between Liz and his phone, Prescott gave him the address of where the car was, and what he needed. Mind racing as they worked on Liz, Ressler couldn’t even think about how far away that was, and how soon he’d be able to get there and back.

But he had to go. And mind reeling, he stepped away from Liz’s room to another cry of “Clear!” behind him once more. “Don’t die Liz. Don’t you dare die on me,” he begged, jogging for the elevator.

###

He was in the SUV, still there in the underground parking lot after Samar had got a ride back with Cooper and Aram the night before. Every fiber of his being needed to be upstairs with Liz. If she died while he was away... But now here he was, screaming downtown doing a favor for Prescott. Slamming his hands on the steering wheel, he raced through the city streets. He considered putting the siren on, but didn’t want to bring attention to himself. He was not on official business. He was on blackmail business. He swore, the air turning blue as he cursed Prescott, the day he’d been born and the day he’d ever met the man.

His GPS was telling him he’d missed a turn. “Dammit! No!” Turning at the next intersection he backtracked, getting back on the road he needed. The address was close. Prescott hadn’t texted again, now that his instructions had been given. As the GPS announced he was arriving at his destination, Ressler swore anew. It wasn’t a business or a home. It was a Police Station. He slowed, and turned into the parking lot.  

“Shit,” he grimaced through clenched teeth. He was going to have to go in there as a Fed and ask for the vehicle. “Get on with it,” he told himself, angry at his own delay. Grabbing a set of latex gloves and shoving them in his pocket, he was out of the car and jogging up the front steps of the station. The desk clerk looked up as he entered.

He flashed his badge, “Donald Ressler, FBI. You have a car in impound I need to take a look at,” he told the guy.

“See that guy down the end of the hallway?” the officer told him, pointing. “He can help you.”

Ressler nodded, thanked the man and headed for the second guy. If he got the runaround on this, he would lose it. Flashing his badge again, he repeated himself.

“Oh, yeah, I know the one. Came in this morning. What do the Feds want with it? I thought it was a simple accident?”

Ressler feigned ignorance. “Hey, I don’t know, I just do what my boss tells me.” He cringed, because he wasn’t far from the truth. Prescott was his boss right now. He exhaled heavily at that thought. Following the guy outside, they entered the impound yard. Approaching the vehicle, it became obvious it had been in an accident. The front end was caved in, it’s bumper hanging askew.

“Here she is,” the sergeant told him, handing him a set of keys. “Just bring ‘em back in when you’re done,” he told Ressler.

Taking the keys, he waited until the guy’s back was turned, then approached the car. Donning the latex gloves, he unlocked at the passenger door of the Jeep. Opening the glove box, he quickly searched the contents for what he needed. And found it. An envelope with photos in it. After another look around, he briefly scanned the photos, seeing a man in an uncompromising position with a woman. He didn’t look further, and slamming the glove box closed, he shoved the photos in his inside pocket. Closing the Jeep door, he locked the vehicle, then quickly returned to the sergeant inside.

“Get what you wanted?” the guy asked, looking up from some paperwork as Ressler handed him the keys.

“Nah, sent me on a wild goose chase it seems,” Ressler told him, thanked the guy, then left.

Heart hammering, he climbed back into his own SUV and leaned back on the headrest. It had taken less than 5 minutes. Photos safely on him, he texted Prescott.

[I have them]

Prescott gave him a second address to take them to. [I’ll be waiting for you]

Putting the new address in the GPS, he slammed the car into gear, and headed back out onto the road to meet Prescott. And all the while, all he could think of was Liz, and how he should be there with her.

What the hell had happened to him? He was at the beck and call of a cleaner. Doing who knows what, using his FBI badge. A badge that had cost him far too much.

###

He found Prescott at a small park, sitting by a fountain. He approached quickly, sitting on the bench near the man. He didn’t like being this close to him, but needed to hand him the photos without it looking obvious. He placed the envelope on the bench between him, and Prescott slid his hand over to retrieve them.

“Next time, don’t take so long,” the cleaner said, glancing in Ressler’s direction.

Clenching his teeth, Ressler glared at the man. “You got what you wanted.”

“Another 20-30 minutes and that car would have been claimed, and my client would have faced very serious problems. There are reasons when I say I need things done immediately.”

Ressler didn’t give a shit about Prescott or his client. “I got it done in time,” he said, rising to his feet and stepping away.

“Pleasure doing business with you,” Prescott said.

Ressler froze, then faced the man, his fists clenching. “We are not in business. I am paying off a debt. And when that debt is paid, you and I are done.”

Prescott stood, and faced Ressler. “You’re done when I say you’re done. I still have that information buried. Don’t forget that. One phone call to your boss, and you’re in jail.”

“You think I don’t know that?” Ressler seethed, staring at Prescott’s smug expression. He stepped back, breaths coming heavy and fast. “I don’t have time for this. I have somewhere I need to be,” he told the man, then spun on his heel, leaving the cleaner behind him.

And once again the air turned blue in Ressler’s car as he drove back to the hospital, cursing the cleaner and his hidden evidence. And not for the first time, he wondered just how the hell had he got himself into this mess.

###

30 minutes after leaving Prescott, he finally pulled back into the hospital, this time parking in the regular lot, rather than the Emergency Department underground parking lot. He’d been gone well over an hour and had no clue what Liz’s condition was. It took him a little while to work his way through the hospital from the main entrance. His phone rang, startling him as he punched the button on the elevator, and he answered.

“Donald, how is our girl doing?”

Reddington. Ressler froze, feeling as if every guilty bone in his body was lit up like a Christmas tree. He didn’t know how Liz was doing. Last time he’d seen her, she was dying and being shocked back to life. For a moment, he didn’t know how to answer Reddington, but it was obvious he wasn’t in her room as the elevator dinged beside him.

“I went down to the cafeteria, and she was doing okay when I left her,” he said. He was lying to Reddington. Would the man hear that on the other end of the phone? Stepping inside the elevator, he waited for Red’s reply, all the while praying that Liz had survived.

“I see.” Ressler wondered just how much Reddington did see, as the man continued. “I have news. I have secured a location for us to bring her to, once she’s out of the hospital. The medical equipment is being delivered tomorrow. All I need now is a nurse and we’ll be set for her long term care.”

As the elevator dinged and arrived back on the ICU floor, Ressler walked past the nurse’s station, phone to his ear, terrified they’d stop him any second and tell him he didn’t have anyone in the ICU anymore.  They didn’t stop him. And arriving back at her doorway, he was greeted by Charlotte looking up at him, and Liz laying as pale and still as ever, and the room calm and empty. Liz was still there. She’d survived the Code Blue.

“That’s…” he paused, staring at Liz as he leaned heavily against the wall across from her doorway, beyond relieved that she was still hanging in there. “That’s great,” he told Red, a slight crack in his voice.

“No. It’s not great, but it is what it is,” Reddington told him, his voice lowering. “This location will have a hospital room for Elizabeth, and a nursery for Agnes. Several guest rooms. Large enough for everyone she needs.”

Everyone. Himself included, he got the impression Reddington was telling him, if he wanted it.

“Thanks,” he said, unsure what he was supposed to say, picturing her in long term hospice care. This couldn’t be happening. It was too much to think about. “I’m back at her room now, so I need to turn my phone off again.”

“I know. Hang in there, Donald,” Red told him, then hung up.

Charlotte looked up as he entered the room. “There you are,” she said, smiling.

“Yeah, I had to…” Go do a favor for the man who’s blackmailing me because I accidentally killed someone, his mind screamed, “…take care of something,” he told her, sitting down beside Liz again.

“Are you okay?” Charlotte asked.

“Yeah,” he nodded, but didn’t meet her eyes. “How is she?”

“She was touch a go there for a little while, but she’s stabilized again. In fact, all those shocks seemed to really help her heart this time, judging by her increased heart rate.”

Ressler glanced up at the monitors. The nurse was right, and Liz’s heart rate and BP had climbed since earlier in the day. With a sigh, he leaned back in the chair, relief flooding over him.

“It often gets worse before it gets better, here in the ICU,” she told him, standing to check Liz again. Outside, the sun was low in the sky, filling the room with a golden light. A few minutes later, the sun set, as Ressler sat by Liz, holding her hand, moving only when Charlotte needed to check the IV in her hand.

###

Later that evening, Debbie returned after shift change. She greeted him, and Ressler immediately felt more at ease. She had that motherly air about her that resonated with him.

“Did you eat today, and get some rest?” she asked, knowing full well his eyes were bloodshot from lack of sleep.

“Well, I got one out of two,” he said, leaning back in his chair as he rubbed his chin. “But hey, I shaved today,” he said, feeling very comfortable with the woman. He omitted the part about running around town stealing the contents of vehicles for his blackmailing cleaner.

“That you did,” she smiled. She looked at him oddly. “Um, I just had the strangest conversation outside the hospital before I came in,” she said.

Ressler squirmed in his chair, “Oh, what was it?” he asked, feeling that he could intrude and ask, since she’d initiated it.

“Well, it was to do with Mrs. Keen, here,” she said, looking toward Liz. “A dark man pulled up in a car, and said that his employer would like a word. Honestly, it felt like something out of the Godfather, but the black man was so genuine and had such a calm presence, that I did as he asked and sat in the back seat with a well-dressed gentleman.”

Ressler leaned forward, “A man wearing a fedora,” he said, and it wasn’t a question.

She smiled. “I thought you might know him. Yes, a man wearing a fedora. He made me a very generous offer to come and take care of Mrs. Keen once she’s discharged.”

Ressler smiled, shaking his head a little. What Reddington wants, Reddington gets. “And what did you tell him?”

“I told him that since I was retiring within a year and looking to reduce my patient load, it would be the perfect fit. I said yes, so he gave me the details. It appears he has secured a large home on an estate, and I’ll be her live in nurse.”

Ressler felt better than he had all day at that news. “And your family will be okay with that arrangement?”

“It’s just me. I lost my husband three years ago, so I’ve lived alone since then. My patients become my family,” she said. “This really will be good for me. He told me Mrs. Keen has a young child who will also be living there.”

“Liz. Please call her Liz,” he asked. He couldn’t bear hearing Mrs. Keen ever again. “Which reminds me,” he told Debbie. “I need to call the nanny and…” he looked at Liz, at a loss for what he was going to tell Rosa.

“Just tell her the truth, as hard as that is,” Debbie told him.

He nodded to the nurse, then got up and left the room, dialing Rosa’s number.

###

The weekend passed in a blur for Ressler, made all the worst the more exhausted he felt. Despite both Charlotte and Debbie’s insistence he go and take a nap on the couches in the family room, he declined. Sitting at her bedside, his eyes hot and stinging with lack of sleep, he kept vigil.

The reports from Dr. Harris were all a mixed blessing. On the one hand, her head wound was healing well. But the brain trauma keeping her encased in the coma showed no sign of easing. On rounds Sunday night, Dr. Harris pulled the drainage tube from her skull, as it was no longer needed.

When Ressler came back into the room, after stepping out for the procedure, the doctor spoke with him. “She’s out of the woods in the sense that she’s survived the initial trauma. She’s holding her own very well now, and I’m very pleased with her progress in that regard.”

 _In that regard_ , Ressler noted. “But she’s not coming out of this coma any time soon, is she?” he asked, not surprised when the doctor agreed with him.

“Unfortunately, no. I’ll be discharging her by the end of the week, and she’ll be well taken care of by Debbie here, at the new location. At that point, it’s a matter of keeping her comfortable, and giving her body what it needs, with nutrition and therapy while she’s comatose.” He paused and held Ressler’s shoulder. “She’s doing fine. She’s over the worst of it now. She’s pulled through. How about you go home and get some rest. You need it,” he said, before dropping his hand. And with a nod he didn’t wait for Ressler’s answer and left the room.

Ressler stood still, taking in the doctor’s words. Liz was out of the woods. She was going to make it.

“I thought you’d be pleased at what he said,” Debbie asked quietly.

Ressler nodded, closed his eyes against sudden hot tears. “I am,” he told her, turning away as exhausted tears of relief fell unchecked. “I am,” he repeated, brushing the tears from his cheeks as he turned back to her.

“Thank you,” he told her, trying to regain his composure. “For everything you’ve done for her,” he said, sitting back in his seat and grabbing Liz’s hand, as another tear rolled free.

“It’s what we do, hon,” she told him gently.

And what she would continue to do, Ressler thought. How Reddington had pulled that off, he didn’t know. But he was very glad this woman would be in charge of Liz’s care for the foreseeable future.

“Go home, Don. Go and get some rest. Or at least go and take a nap down in the family room. She’ll be okay. I’m here with her.”

Inhaling, and with another brush of his hands down his tear stained cheeks, Ressler stood and gazed at Liz. The tube was now gone, leaving only the brainwave sensors that were carefully tucked behind her hair. She had much more color now, her blood having been fully replenished. She looked asleep. Peaceful.

He leaned down and no longer afraid he’d break her, he kissed her forehead lightly, closing his eyes as more tears threatened. And without looking at Debbie again, he left the room and headed down the end of the hall to the quiet family room. Finding the couch furthest from the door he lay down, pulling a blanket over him as his head hit the pillow.

He was asleep in less than a minute.

 

 

 


	5. Camp Liz

10 days later, Ressler was sitting at his desk and couldn't stop staring at Liz's empty chair before him. She should be there, working, smiling, drinking her morning coffee that he usually got for her, and giving him that little glance she did at times. Instead, she lay comatose and intubated in a bed at the hospital home, or 'Camp Liz' as he'd come to think of it. Not that he'd ever share that with Red who had procured the large home on the expansive estate.

Life wasn't fair, and certainly hadn't been to Liz. She hadn't even been able to attend her husband's funeral. She didn't even know her husband had died. She had nothing good to wake up to, when she eventually did open her eyes. Because she would open them, of that he was sure. But when… well, that's where it got muddy, because no one had any idea.

Nor did he have any further idea on what had happened. He'd handed Tom's phone to Aram his first morning back after his long few days at the hospital, with instructions to search every number for anything. But they'd come up blank. Nik Korpal's number was in there, but Nik was dead. Pete McGee's number was in there, and he was also dead. Another number belonged to a Lena Mercer, and as they had discovered, she had ended up being run through a wood chipper. The last few people Tom had been in contact with were all dead. And Liz had almost been one of them. Ressler grimaced at that thought. It was beyond frustrating.

A knock at his door brought him out of his thoughts. "Hey, we're ready when you are," Aram told him.

Ready. Was he ready for this? He had to be. Shutting off his computer, he then stood, grabbed his coat and keys and headed out of his office. Samar got up from her desk and the trio walked to the elevator.

"Sure you don't need any extra help?" Cooper asked, looking up from a folder he was reading.

"We've got it, thank you, sir," Aram told him, sounding unusually bold and sure of himself, Ressler noted.

Once in the SUV outside, Ressler climbed into the driver's seat, Samar beside him and Aram in the back. "Let's do this," he said, more to convince himself than his companions.

Twenty minutes later they pulled up to Liz's apartment complex. As they exited the vehicle, Aram grabbed some supplies in a bucket from the back of the vehicle. And together they headed into the building, toward Liz's apartment. The door frame had been repaired, courtesy of the building's maintenance man, and Ressler turned the key in the door to let them in. They walked in slowly, looking at the broken furniture and glass strewn about the floor. But what caught the breath in all of their throats were the two large blood pools. Ressler couldn't drag his eyes away from the one he just knew was from Liz's head wound. How had she lost so much blood before even getting to the hospital and still survived?

A touch on his arm startled him as Samar placed her hand on his forearm. "You good?'

He nodded. He wasn't good, but he was going to do this for Liz. "Let's do this," he repeated, taking his coat and suit jacket off and hanging them on a hook by the door, then rolling up his sleeves. They hadn't even started the cleanup when the door opened and in stepped Red and Dembe. Ressler had no idea how they'd even known the three of them were coming over. Probably through Cooper.

Reddington stepped through the wrecked room, coming to stand beside Ressler, his eyes settling on the blood pools on the floor. He spoke softly, almost to himself. "There are times I miss Kate. She would have taken care of this and…" he didn't finish the sentence.

Dembe spoke up, "We have come for Agnes, to get the remainder of her toys and clothes," he said, walking to the babies' room with a large empty box. As the man disappeared into the room, Red turned without a word, as if he could no longer bear to be in the living room and followed Dembe.

Ressler knew how Red felt. It was all he could do to stand this close to where Liz had almost lost her life. And with a look to Aram and Samar, poised together as if waiting for the word to start, he nodded to them. And with that, the three of them set about scrubbing the blood off the floor, sweeping up the glass, and putting what remained of the intact furniture into some semblance of order.

Half way through their efforts, Red and Dembe reappeared, and Dembe headed out with the box overflowing with Agnes's belongings. Red spoke with Ressler briefly. "I've made arrangements to continue paying the rent here until such time as Elizabeth can make the decision on what she'd like done."

"Thanks," Ressler replied, and then Red turned and left with a glance to Aram and Samar who were busy scrubbing Tom's blood off the floor.

An hour later, after doing a load of laundry and hanging up Liz's and Tom's clothes, dumping the broken furniture and the spoiled contents of Liz's fridge in the apartment dumpster, they surveyed their handiwork. The blood was gone from the floor, though Ressler could still see it in his mind's eye.

"It looks much better," Samar said. "It will be ready for her, if Liz wants to come back, that is," she added.

Ressler had no idea if she would. If it were him, he'd want to be as far as possible from the apartment that carried such horrific memories. They walked through one last time, putting a few last minute things back in their place, and the last of the washed dishes back in the cabinets. Their work done, they left the apartment as Ressler locked the door firmly behind them.

###

After leaving Liz's apartment, still trying to unsee the pool of blood on the floor, Ressler headed in the direction of Camp Liz. On arrival, he parked his car, and on entering the large home, he was greeted with the smell of cooking. He hadn't realized until then that he was hungry. Food could wait a little longer though. Walking down the long hallway to Liz's room, he stood outside the half open door for a moment. They had a simple rule in place – if the door was fully closed it meant Debbie was bathing Liz or doing a procedure. At all other times the door was half ajar, and people could go in. He peered inside, to see she was alone, and the only indication that she wasn't just sleeping was the soft hum of the ventilator and feed pump. The room was set up in a manner to make it feel more like a bedroom and less like a hospital room. A deliberate attempt at some kind of normalcy for all of them.

In the soft light of the room, lit only with the lamp, he sat in the comfortable recliner by her bed, put his feet up, and simply looked at her. When he was at work, he was almost terrified she'd wake and he'd miss it. But once with her, he relaxed, and instead was struck by how peaceful she looked, sleeping away the days and nights. A small part of him almost envied her that.

The door opened, and Debbie slipped quietly in, smiling at him. "Good evening, Don," she told him.

"Hey, evening," he told the nurse, and watched her as she checked Liz and injected meds into Liz's central line.

She turned to him once she was done. "Did you eat? Dembe made the most delicious Lasagna tonight. You should get some," she said, smoothing Liz's sheets.

"Dembe cooked?" Ressler asked, amused at that, and wondering how Carol had relinquished the kitchen.

"Yes, Carol's husband took her out for their anniversary tonight," Debbie explained, then looked away wistfully, and he knew she was remembering her own husband recently lost. "And Dembe can be very persuasive," she added with a small chuckle, recovering.

"That he can be," Ressler replied, then looked to Liz again. "I'll grab something soon," he told the nurse, who then left him be.

The only sound in the room was the distant traffic outside, and alone again with Liz, he leaned forward in the chair, and smoothed her hair. "I don't know if you can hear me, Liz. I wish I knew," he told her. Debbie had previously explained that 15-20% of coma patients could hear, but not react to outside stimuli. And that was good enough odds for him to not sit there in silence, but talk to her. And he had decided from the outset, he was not going to mention Tom's death. Because if she could hear him say that, and yet not feel any comfort, that was too much for him to be responsible for.

"So, we cleaned up your apartment today, Samar, Aram and I," he told her softly, still stroking her hair. "You know, if you want to go back there," he added, again struck with the feeling that even he didn't want to set foot in there again. "Did you know Aram is quite handy with a mop?" He smiled, leaning closer. "Who knew, right?" He looked at her closed eyes, and longed to see the blue of them again. He missed her eyes. He had glanced at them and held them so many times.

"And Red came, with Dembe too, and we have all of Agnes's toys here for her now." At that, he looked away, thinking of the baby. She had cried a ton and been inconsolable at times, and all knew she was missing her parents, but had no other way to express that except through tears. "She misses you, Liz," he told her, not wanting to elaborate that she also missed Tom. "We all do." He paused, stroking her hair lightly again. "The office isn't the same without you." He stuck to safe subjects, telling her about his day, and stayed away from the fact they'd buried her husband a few days prior. But he also knew that if Liz was one of the ones able to hear from inside her dark cocoon, she'd already know the one person he had not mentioned was Tom.

After another 10 minutes or so, he stood, leaned over her and kissed her forehead. "Night, Liz," he told her, then quietly left her room, leaving the door half ajar, and headed for the kitchen.

###

He found Debbie in the large kitchen making a cup of tea for herself. She offered him one, but he declined, opting for coffee instead. Grabbing a plate to fill, she then took it from him with a smile and served him up some of Dembe's lasagna. He'd have got it himself, but let her do it for him.

"Thanks," he said, sitting at the large kitchen table to eat his meal. She sat across from him, sipping her tea.

He asked her the same question he'd asked every evening. "Any change in her today?"

"You know that would be the first thing I'd tell you, if there were," she smiled, understanding that he still had to ask. "It's still early days. We all need to be prepared to be in this for the long haul. Months, not days."

Filling his fork, he glanced at her, and nodded. "I know, I just…"

"it's okay," she replied, smiling at him. "She's doing well though. She's stable, just-"

"Just can't wake up," he finished.

"You care for her a great deal," she said, meeting his eyes. "You love her," she added.

He looked away, and didn't answer that. But it was obvious, even to Debbie.

"She's going to need that. Need you, when she wakes up," she told him.

Ressler had mixed feelings on that. "First thing she's going to hear is that her husband is dead. She's going to be devastated and mourn him, as she should."

"And she will need those who love and care for her while she does," Debbie told him. She smiled and patted his hand, then stood up to wash her empty cup. "Try not to overthink what will happen down the road. Just do what you're doing now for her. One day, she will know."

Ressler thanked her, taking the last mouthful of his meal, which was every bit as good as Debbie had said, standing to wash his own plate.

"You heading back to your apartment, or going to stay here tonight?" she asked.

"Probably head home after I check in on her again." And he could stay, he knew that. He just hadn't yet. Because once he did, he'd probably not return to his apartment.

"Well, there are lots of rooms," she said, looking around the kitchen. "This is a huge place. Really too big for the few of us."

"Well, that's Reddington for you. He does everything big," Ressler smiled, said goodnight to the nurse, and then padded down the hallway again to quickly look in on Liz. He couldn't help it. And standing in the now dark room, her sleeping form lit only by the moonlight, he whispered to her, "Night, Liz. I miss you."

He turned and headed back down the way he'd come to the opposite wing to see if he could find Reddington. He needed to talk to the criminal. On the way, he passed Agnes's room and would have kept on walking, except the door was half open. He peered inside, and was greeted with the sight of Dembe in the rocker, holding the sleeping child. From across the room, Dembe saw him and smiled, still rocking the baby. Neither said anything. Neither needed to. With a nod, Ressler left and went to Red's room, where he knocked on the door.

"Come in, Donald," Red called from behind the closed door. Ressler wasn't sure how Red knew it was him, and shrugged it off. Red motioned to a chair by a fireplace while he sat in the opposite one. "What's on your mind?"

Ressler cut straight to the chase. "When are you going to give us more cases? More Blacklisters?" he asked, tired of the criminal's vagueness up until now regarding such matters.

Red tipped his head a little, eyeing Ressler. "Well, that's the question, isn't it?"

"And what's the answer?"

"I don't have an answer," Red said, "because that depends on many things. Not the least of which, is when Elizabeth will wake up. Because without her…"

"Yes, but one shouldn't have anything to do with the other. Surely we're past the "I speak only to Elizabeth Keen, aren't we?" Ressler asked.

"That we are. Which is why I said that was only one part of the equation," Red replied. "The fact I'm here speaking with you now attests to how far you and I have come, Donald."

"I understand that, but I need something. The task force needs something," Ressler said, impatient with the man's skating around the question.

"Donald, my attempts to keep Elizabeth safe has resulted in this turn of events. I can't in good conscience continue to supply you with names under these current circumstances."

Ressler leaned forward in his chair, "But the man who did this is still out there. Give us his name, and let us do our job," he insisted.

"Your job isn't to bring that man to justice. It's my job to find him, Donald."

"Then let us in on it. We need-"

"No, YOU need. The reason I didn't give you more the night this happened is because I know your track record on going after those who hurt those you care about, and I'm not going there again with you."

Ressler stood up from his chair, grimacing. "The task force exists to work on cases you give us. How long do you think it's going to be before the DOJ reassigns us when it's obvious you've stopped giving us cases?"

"I'm well aware of that," the criminal told him, "but for now, this is how it must be."

Ressler stepped away, looking into the flames of the fireplace. "We've got nothing off Tom's phone. Just a bunch of dead ends," he said. "Do you know how hard it is waiting around, knowing that the person who did this to her and killed Tom is still out there?"

"I do know. And that is my job to make sure he never does this again. But in order to do that, there are certain things I need to put in place before I can do that. Things I need to do, Donald, not the task force."

Ressler turned to the man, and exhaled in frustration. "And how long before you can do that?"

"That remains to be seen," Red replied, and Ressler felt like strangling the man. And perhaps seeing the fire in Ressler's eyes, Red added, "But when I am in a place to begin giving you names, rest assured, you will be my contact with the task force and the first to know."

"Fine," Ressler replied, stepping away from the man, hands on his hips.

"I'll talk with Harold again tomorrow. Trust me, he and I have had this conversation too, Donald, and I've told him the same thing."

Nodding to the man, Ressler headed to the door.

"You're welcome to stay here," Red called after him. "There is plenty of room."

"I know," he told Red, and then left, beyond frustrated at the man.

###

At work the next day, Ressler was greeted by Aram as soon as he got off the elevator. "Um, so Samar and I were wondering… well, actually, I was wondering, if we should still do something for Christmas next week. With Liz… you know," he said, keeping up with Ressler as he kept on walking to his office. Ressler had no desire to celebrate anything, but it was obvious Aram wanted an answer.

"Look, Aram, do what you think is best, okay? If you want to do a staff Christmas party, then go for it."

"So, is that a yes…?"

Ressler sat in his chair, and turned to the man. "Yes." Something else then occurred to him. "Or, I don't know, there is a little girl out there who has just lost everything, and perhaps she would appreciate a Christmas party, as much as a baby can. But then, she is very young -"

Aram beamed at him. "That's an excellent idea! We could do it at the house, and decorate it all nice for Agnes! Thank you, Agent Ressler!" he said, the huge smile lighting up his face, now that he had a task to complete.

Ressler watched Aram as he stepped outside and spoke animatedly with Samar, who then cast a bemused glance back in his direction, before talking with Aram again. No one could accuse him of being Scrooge, at least. He started at his desk, and his eyes rose to Liz's empty desk. And before he could dwell too much on her being gone, Cooper knocked at his door and stepped in.

"Morning, Don. I wanted to give you a heads up. It is becoming increasing clear to Main Justice that Reddington is not giving us cases. I don't know how much longer I can hold them off."

"Yeah, I talked with him last night, too," Ressler said. "He's not giving us anything until he's good and ready, and has no idea when that will be."

"I'm concerned," said Cooper. "This task force exists to work on cases he gives us. Panabaker is on her way here, and she's chomping at the bit. I believe it's only a matter of time before she shuts us down."

Ressler stared at his boss as he voiced what he himself had also feared. He couldn't lose this task force too. "What can we do?"

"I'm going to do everything I can to keep us together. In the meantime, are you sure there is nothing else on Tom Keen's phone that can give us a lead? If there is anything, at least I can give them something that we're working on."

Ressler pulled Tom's phone out of his desk drawer. "Aram has looked at every number on it. We've followed each one, and come up with a dead end. Tom or those he was calling must have used burners when he spoke with anyone of consequence."

"Well, for the sake of doing something, let's keep digging a little deeper into each contact," he told Ressler, but both men knew it was a fruitless task.

"Will do," he told his boss, turning on the phone again as Cooper left.

The contacts weren't the only thing of interest on Tom's phone. Feeling guilty for even doing it, Ressler opened up the photos, and stared at the pics of Liz. Pictures of her alive and bright eyed. Playing with Agnes. Laughing and happy. He skimmed through the images, looking at her. He missed her so much it hurt. And skimming through the images, past pics of Liz and Agnes, he suddenly stopped on one image, leaning forward in his chair.

An image of Liz's FBI badge. Why would Tom have taken that pic? What the hell would he have needed that for? Rising, he walked quickly out to the war room.

"Aram," he said, stepping toward the man's desk. "See if you can find out anything on why Tom Keen had this image on his phone. It's a long shot, but there has to be a reason he needed Liz's badge."

"Whoa," Aram said, taking the phone. "That could be like looking for a needle in a haystack. Like impossible…" At Ressler's look, he dropped his eyes to his computer. "But, no worries, I'm on it."

"It could be anything. Used to open up a door, or gain entry somewhere," Samar said.

"Exactly. Find out everything Liz, or Liz's badge, has done, opened, searched on or accessed since that pic was taken. It IS a needle in a haystack, I know, but it's all we've got."

Ressler hurried up the stairs to Cooper's office. It wasn't much, but it was a lead. And it might be enough to keep Panabaker off them for a little bit longer. Because with Liz down, the job was once again all he had.

He'd no sooner explained to Cooper what he had Aram working on, when the elevator doors cranked open to reveal Cynthia Panabaker striding from its yellow confines. Ressler, standing by Cooper's office window, saw her enter.

"She's here," he told his boss, and headed for the door to give them privacy.

Cooper shook his head wearily, "Show time," he said, and added, "No, stay here. Let's both hear what she has to say," he said, and Ressler nodded, then stood aside a moment before Panabaker knocked then entered without waiting for an invitation.

"Harold," she said, sitting at his desk, "Just what in the Sam Hill is going on here? Not much, by the looks of it. The brass at the DOJ are about as nervous as a long-tail cat in a room full of rocking chairs."

"Good morning to you too, Cynthia," Cooper said congenially, ignoring the woman's attitude.

Panabaker noticed Ressler, leaning against the wall, arms folded. "Agent Ressler, I see you have no criminals to chase and are in here just shooting the breeze with your fearless leader."

Ressler gave her a silent stare in response.

"Agent Ressler and I were just discussing a lead on the Agent Keen case," Cooper told the woman.

"Oh? Agent Keen is considered a bona fide case? I understand she's one of your team, Harold, but I fail to see how what happened to her constitutes an entire task force working on it. Your prime objective is to give us criminals we would not ordinarily apprehend, from information supplied by Raymond Reddington. And my understanding is that Reddington has given you diddly squat to work on."

Ressler shifted from his spot on the wall, not liking the woman's tone. He opened his mouth to offer a retort, before a glance from Cooper kept him silent.

"While it's true that we haven't been given anything from Reddington yet, we do have a lead that could result in apprehending-"

"I am not interested in a lead on Agent Keen. I need Raymond Reddington in here front and center, giving us a case that complies with the terms of his immunity agreement."

"I'm well aware of that. Myself and Agent Ressler have both spoken with Reddington, and explained the need for him to continue to give us names," Cooper told her, nodding to Ressler.

"And apparently, that has fallen on deaf ears. I need information from Reddington now. Today, Harold," she interrupted. "Can you give me that?"

Ressler looked at Cooper. They couldn't give her that. "No, I cannot," Cooper told the woman.

"Then I want to speak to him. Get him in here."

"Reddington does not come at our beck and call, Cynthia. You know this."

Panabaker's eyes grew wide. "Get him on the phone, Harold, this minute. Put him on speaker."

With a raise of his eyebrows and a quick glance at Ressler, Cooper dialed Red's number, and punched the button to put it on speaker.

"Harold," came Reddington's voice. How are you faring this fine-"

"Raymond Reddington. Cynthia Panabaker here, in Harold's office. Do I need to remind you that you remain a free man only as long as you supply us with legitimate cases?"

"Cynthia, lovely to hear from you. As I have explained to Harold, you will get a case from me once I have one. Not before. Good day to you." And with that, the line went dead, leaving Cynthia Panabaker open mouthed at his dismissal.

"He can't do that!"

"I believe he just did," Ressler said, not flinching an inch under the withering glare she tossed him. At least she didn't remind him he was either a traitor or a moron, he thought.

"Like the man said, he will give us a case when he's good and ready," Cooper repeated.

"Well then," she said looking to both of them, still flushed and agitated. "I have no choice but to reassign the members of your task force within the Bureau where they can infiltrate with other field units."

Ressler's heart sank. "You can't do that," he said, stepping toward the woman.

"Agent Ressler, I can, and I will. Until such time as Raymond Reddington deems fit to grace us with his presence, I will not have FBI agents standing around wasting airspace."

"Cynthia, I understand your position," Cooper said, rising and leaning forward on his desk, looking down at the woman.

"I doubt that very much," she said, smoothing her tweed skirt.

"You want us on regular cases. I get it. But let me keep my unit, my team together. Give us Bureau cases, by all means, but let us work on them from here, using our resources. Why let this facility stand vacant while you farm us out? We have everything we need right here."

Ressler backed up his boss, approaching Panabaker. "Look, we know each other. We work well together. Don't jeopardize that team work. We'll work on other cases, but keep this unit intact while the Reddington task force is temporarily down."

Panabaker stood, still no match for Cooper's height, and looked between the two men. "What is this, the Billionaire's Boys Club? Fine," she said, throwing her hands up in frustration. "You can stay here in your happy little underground hobbit hole. But I'm watching, Harold. And if I don't see hide nor hair of Reddington in a month or two, his immunity deal will be deader than a door nail."

Cooper looked from the woman to Ressler. "We're well aware of that."

"Fine. Then we're all on the same page. I expect to see you every morning at FBI HQ, Harold, getting briefings. If you want to come back here to fill in your team and do the work, so be it. But you will integrate fully with HQ while we're on this little vacation of Reddington's making."

It was the best compromise they were going to get, and both Cooper and Ressler knew it.

"I'll see you bright and early tomorrow morning at HQ," Cooper told her, accepting the terms and looking to Ressler who nodded.

"I would say it's always a pleasure, Harold, but I'm not sure I even know which way is up anymore," Panabaker said, then turned, completely ignoring Ressler as she left the office.

Ressler looked at Cooper as his boss sat back down. "Well, I think we got off rather lightly, all things considered," Cooper said

Ressler cocked his eyebrow, "It's a temporary reprieve at best."

"It is. I'll call Reddington and let him know what she's put in place. Who knows, that might spur him to get back in the saddle, as Panabaker would say," he said with a smile.

With a nod, Ressler left the office and headed back down the metal stairs. They might be working on other cases for the Bureau from now on, but that didn't mean he wasn't going to keep following up on anything that would lead them to who had attacked Liz.


	6. Cold Case

Christmas came and went, and amid the eggnog (non-alcoholic, since Aram was in charge) and Secret Santa, they'd had their staff party with Agnes. Truth was, despite the fact he'd been the one to suggest it, Ressler didn't want to be there, not without Liz sharing it. She was technically there, but sleeping away in another wing of the huge house, and she was all Ressler could think about. Agnes spent some of the party in tears, some giggling (much to the delight of Aram) and the rest of it asleep in Dembe's arms. Cooper sat with Reddington, and it didn't take a genius to know he was still trying to get the criminal to give them a case. Ressler had disappeared half way through it, only to be found by Samar some time later in Liz's room, sitting in the semi dark with her. But despite the circumstances, everyone seemed to have had a good time.

As winter left its mark on the nation with the coldest arctic snap in years, Ressler went through the motions of doing his job each week. Liz would have hated the weather, and would have been complaining about the bitter cold and deep snow, he mused, her head stuffed into her woolen beanie, with a scarf wrapped around her. They'd had an assortment of cases since being assigned to the Bureau network. One a case of embezzlement, the other a small town mafia wannabe, and a couple of arms dealers. It was all routine, and, as Ressler told himself, despite it being 'boring' not getting Blacklisters, at least the task force was still together. And so far, Panabaker had left them all alone.

Prescott, on the other hand, had not. After his trip to retrieve the photos from the car in impound, Prescott had texted him in early January, needing yet another favor. This one was similar to the first. Retrieve something from evidence. Except the evidence he'd needed to get was locked up in FBI headquarters. And it had been a close call, heading into the building, logging into the evidence room and finally finding the right case file. One minute later, with the evidence bag in his inner pocket, he'd left the locked room - and almost ran right into Cooper who was attending the morning briefing. Only a nearby empty office had saved him from running right into his boss and trying to explain what he was doing there. And through it all, standing inside the empty office while waiting for the coast to clear, Ressler hated what he was doing and who he had become.

###

One morning in mid February, Ressler walked out of the elevator to be greeted with images of a young blond headed boy on the overhead screens. Cooper was standing with Aram. Ressler had no sooner put his gear at his desk and come back out when Samar arrived.

"Good, now that we're all here, we have a new case," Cooper told them. "Actually, it's a cold case."

"How cold?" Ressler asked, his interest piqued.

"10 years ago, this boy was kidnapped," he said, pointing at the monitors, "Dillon Matthews, who was 11 at the time, was kidnapped on his way to school in upstate New York. He's the son of a publishing magnate, Clarke Matthews. He and his wife Stephanie did everything they were told, until, against the FBI's suggestion of engaging with the kidnappers, they got the $1 million ransom and arranged the drop with the kidnappers. But when the ransom drop was botched, the kidnappers fled and they never contacted the parents again."

"Never? Did they assume the boy was then killed? 10 years is a long time for a kidnapped child to still be alive," Samar said, echoing each of their thoughts.

"It is, which is why this became a cold case when nothing panned out. It was shelved for years, until yesterday, when an anonymous tip came in to the FBI switchboard." Cooper looked to Aram. "Aram, do you have that recording?"

Aram played it for them as they all listened to a male voice. The call was short and brief. "I know where that missing boy, Dillon Matthews, is," the caller said. "He's been living with a guy near Englewood, Ohio. I've seen him several times over the years at one of those storage places out near the airport, and now I'm sure he's that missing kid." With no more details than that, the line went dead.

"So this guy suddenly decides to call this in, after he's been seeing this kid for years?" Ressler said, looking up at the image of Dillon Matthews. "I wonder what changed to make him sure it was him?"

"And he'd be an adult by now," Samar added. "How would he even recognize him?"

"I have a picture here somewhere… oh, here we go, of an aged photo to show what Dillon would look like at 20 years old," Aram said, flashing an image onto the screen beside the photo of the smiling 11-year-old. A blond, blue eyed young man stared back at them.

"Whatever happened to make the caller positive it was this boy all along, we may never know. Perhaps he spoke with the young man, who admitted who he was. The switchboard tried to trace the number of the caller, and got nothing. But it's our case now, and we need to check it out," Cooper told them, turning to Ressler. "Start with the parents. They're still at the same house in Syracuse. Aram has their address in the file, so get up there and talk with them. I want them to hear this recording and see what they think."

"Is that wise, letting the parents hear about a possible location of their son before we can get a team to Ohio?" Ressler asked.

Cooper smiled. "This is new to all of us, being bigger than just this task force. A team is already en route to the storage units in Englewood and will be in place about the time you speak with the parents. Once you're done in Syracuse, I want you and Navabi to head to Englewood to meet the field agent there, where you'll take over from him."

"You realize the parents are going to head straight to the location on the recording," Ressler added. "I know I would be, if my kid had been missing for 10 years and I got a possible location on him."

"Yes. Which is exactly why I want you to take the parents and keep an eye on them. We can't keep them away, but we can avoid them blindly rushing into a situation that we know very little about at this point," Cooper clarified.

Their task clear, Ressler and Navabi headed to Syracuse, to meet with Clarke and Stephanie Matthews.

###

"He was such a good little boy," Stephanie Matthews said, smiling at a framed photo of her son, her nervousness obvious at having the FBI in their home again.

"We spoke to so many FBI during the first few years, and then nothing. What makes you interested in Dillon again now?" Clarke Matthews said, sitting beside his wife on the couch. "Did you…" he swallowed, glanced at his wife and held her hand. "Did you find… a body?"

Ressler shook his head, and felt for the parents. "No, not a body, I assure you," Ressler said watching the parents heave sighs of relief, "We received an anonymous tip yesterday with a possible sighting and location of your son."

"Oh!" Stephanie exclaimed, clutching the photo and reaching for her husband's arm.

Clarke leaned forward in the chair. "What was the tip? What did they say?" he asked, eyes lighting up, yet still clouded in doubt, not daring after all this time to hope again.

"It was a phone call, and we have it here for you to listen to," Ressler said, reaching for his phone. Aram had copied the recording to it for Ressler to play to the parents. He started the playback for them. As the young man's voice spoke in the room, Ressler watched the parents closely. Their shock and surprise was clear. They did not know about this recording.

Fist to his mouth, fighting back tears, Clarke asked them to play it again, and Ressler complied.

"Could it really be true?" Stephanie asked, tears rolling down her cheeks. "After all this time?"

Her husband recovered his wits about him, and stood. "We need to get there. That's why you're here, isn't it? To take us there?"

Ressler stood, followed by Samar. "Yes, sir. You can accompany us to Ohio. An FBI team is already on their way there to stake out the location. If this is indeed your son, we should know more soon."

Hardly able to believe what they were hearing, the Matthews hugged each other, then hurried to get ready to leave.

Samar spoke to Ressler. "I don't like having them along with us. We have no clue what we will find there."

"I know, but better for us to have a handle on where they are than them off doing their own thing at this point," Ressler replied.

When the Matthew's joined them again, they headed to their SUV, and then made their way to the local airport where an FBI jet was waiting to take them to Englewood, Ohio.

###

During the brief flight, Stephanie spoke with Ressler and Samar, telling them about the day it happened, and the investigation that followed. All things they had read in the file, but hearing it first-hand made it far more real.

"I just can't take not knowing what happened to him, you know?" she said, and Samar placed her hand on the woman's.

"I know. We're going to follow this lead and see if it is your boy."

"Promise me we'll find him," she said, tears springing to her eyes again as she looked at them both.

"We're going to do everything we can, I can promise you that," Ressler told her, unable to promise the woman what she really needed to hear.

As the sound of the jet engines changed and they descended into Englewood, Ressler looked out the window. The storage units were literally right next to the airport, and from their altitude, he could now see them. The FBI on scene were keeping a low profile. Not one flashing light was to be seen. A few vans were visible, both on the road and inside the airport fence, and his trained eye knew they were keeping surveillance on the area. As they landed, he spoke with the Matthews.

"We're going to need you to keep back and let us go in and see what we find," he said. "I mean that. We need to know you're safe. We'll put you in one of the vans nearby and let you know as soon as we find out anything, okay?"

They nodded. "We understand, and appreciate you bringing us," Clarke told him.

And with that, they left the jet. Ressler was met by the field agent on while another agent led the parents away to one of the surveillance vans.

"It's quiet in there. We spoke with the business next to them, and they said that a John O'Brien owns the place. They've seen a boy there for several years and always assumed he was O'Brien's son. No one there right now. We're waiting for their return."

Suiting up in his Kevlar, Ressler took position in one of the vans, Samar in the other. In their view was the combined house and office of the storage units, and it was as quiet as the agent had told him.

After 30 minutes of waiting, and Ressler's eyes watering from staring at the monitor in front of him, movement caught their eye and the radio squawked.

"Vehicle approaching," the voice said, as they watched a black van pull into the storage unit and parked behind the building. They pulled into a covered garage right behind it, effectively blocking their view.

"Dammit, we can't see anything," Ressler said.

"Got them!" came the voice on the radio again, and from their vantage point, they had a different angle. "Two males entering the back of the building. One blond, one dark haired."

"Blond," came Samar's voice in his ear and Ressler's senses kicked up a notch.

"Okay, let's do this," Ressler said, and gave the word for the SWAT team to surround the office building. "Go!" he yelled into the radio, "Surround the building!" On the monitor, he saw them exiting their vehicles, running tightly together, guns drawn and taking up position in a perimeter around the building. It was his turn now.

"Navabi, with me," he said into his mouthpiece and her reply came back. Together, guns drawn, they left the vans and crossed the street, heading toward the building. "John O'Brien! FBI!" he shouted, but was met with silence. The SWAT guys took a step forward, tightening the circle a little.

"Dillon Matthews! If you are in the building, you can come on out. It's safe!" Ressler called again, as he and Samar stood together, next to one of the SWAT guys.

Nothing from inside the building. Ressler flicked a glance to Samar, and they stood their ground. A curtain moved on the front of the building, as if someone had peeked out.

"They know we're here," Samar said.

"John O'Brien! Come on out, with your hands up!" Ressler called out.

And this time, there was movement. The front door opened a crack, and as it did, each of the SWAT guys hunched over more, their weapons trained on the door.

"Hold your fire!" Ressler warned them. "John O'Brien, come on out. Dillon Matthews, if you are inside, come on out too."

The door opened more, and a person stepped out. Hands in the air, a hood over his face, Ressler hissed at the sight. Behind the man, came another wearing a hoodie that effectively blocked his face. But it wasn't the hidden features that got Ressler's attention, but the gun in the man's hands, pointing right at the hooded figure before him.

"Gun!" yelled the SWAT commander, and his men crouched lower, reading to fire at the command.

"Hold your fire!" Ressler warned them again. "O'Brien! Let him go. No one needs to get hurt here!"

Ressler's eyes never left the gun. O'Brien kept Dillon close, aiming the gun at his captive.

"Let him go, O'Brien! It's over!" Ressler called, stepping forward, followed by the SWAT guy keeping right by his side.

The shot rang out before Ressler could take another step forward. For a split second, he didn't know who'd been shot, then saw the SWAT guy at his side hit the ground.

"O'Brien! Freeze!" Ressler yelled, stepping closer, Samar right at his back. "Drop it!"

O'Brien didn't freeze, instead he aimed the gun right at Dillon's hooded head.

"I said drop it!" Ressler yelled, leveling his own weapon. He had a clear shot. "Drop it!"

O'Brien didn't comply and instead, almost in slow motion, Ressler saw him cocking the hammer back on the gun, ready to fire at Dillon's hooded head. "No!" Ressler yelled, and fired his own weapon, dropping O'Brien with a clean head shot. As the gunman fell back, Dillon dropped to his knees, sobbing beneath the hood.

Ressler and Samar were beside him in an instant, kicking the gun away from the dead gunman, while a medic attended to the fallen SWAT guy behind them. Ressler tugged the hood off and looked into the young man's face before him.

"What the-" Ressler stopped and stared at the dark haired, brown eyed youth before him.

"Who are you? What is your name?" Samar asked him above the commotion around them

The young man, tall for his age, yet barely 16, stared back at them. "I'm, I'm Jack K-Keller!" he cried, shaking and crying.

Ressler turned to the hooded gunman nearby, knelt at his side and tore off the blood splattered hoodie. The bloodied blond hair came shockingly into focus. The blue eyes of the young man were still open, staring lifelessly up at the noon sun.

"Oh, my God," Samar whispered beside Ressler, looking at the dead gunman. "That is Dillon Matthews!"

Ressler's gut churned. What the hell had happened? He'd shot and killed the young man they'd come here to rescue! Behind him, a shout went up.

"Keep them back! Don't let them through!"

Ressler barely heard it, still staring into the dead eyes of Dillon Matthews, his mind reeling, while a medic led the sobbing Jack Keller away.

"He's got a gun!"

"What?" Samar turned, just in time to see Clarke Matthews picking up the gun that had been kicked away.

"You killed my son! You killed my boy!" Clarke shouted, levelling the gun at Ressler who was only now rising to his feet.

"Mr. Matthews, I-"

As two agents tackled Clarke Matthews, the gunshot rang out in the air, and Ressler felt the bullet slice through his left shoulder, the shot deflected from Matthew's original target.

Men were yelling, holding Clarke down. Behind him a woman was screaming, and beside him Samar was holding onto him as he dropped to his knees, blood pouring from his shoulder.

"Ressler! Are you okay?" she yelled at him.

But all he could see was the body of Dillon Matthews on the ground in front of him, dead by his own bullet, and wonder what the hell had gone wrong.

###

20 minutes later, he sat in the back of an ambulance, donning his bloodied t-shirt over his heavily wrapped shoulder, before placing his left arm in a sling. He'd been lucky, or so the medics had told him, as the bullet had gone clean through. He didn't feel lucky. Mind reeling, he'd barely noticed the medics patching him up.

"Are you done?" he asked them, rising to his feet, needing to talk to Samar and find out what was going on.

"You should get to a hospital and get this looked at properly," the medic told him. "But yes, for now, we're done. You want something for the pain? That has to hurt like a son-of-a-bitch," the medic asked. Ressler ignored him. He did not want something for the pain.

"How's the SWAT guy?" he asked, having lost sight of the injured man in the ensuing chaos.

"Being taken to surgery, last I heard. His Kevlar blocked most of the shot, but it still got him pretty good."

"Thanks," Ressler told him, then stepped unsteadily down from the ambulance. He spotted Samar through the crowd, sitting with Jack Keller on the porch of the house and office building. The young man had calmed down, and with a blanket wrapped around him, was munching on a sandwich as they spoke. Ressler walked over to them, coming to stand in front of them before Samar scooted them over, giving Ressler room to sit.

"You okay?" she asked.

He nodded, then turned to the boy. "Are you?"

Long brown hair framing his pale face, the boy nodded. "Yes. Thank you for coming and saving me," he said.

Samar looked across to him. "Jack's been telling me what happened. It's quite the story," she told Ressler, who wanted to hear everything.

A female agent came up to them. "We've got word to his parents, and they'll be here in a couple of hours," she told them. "Would you like me to stay with the boy?"

Samar thanked her, then looked to Jack. "We need to get going, but you'll be well looked after until your parents arrive, okay?" The boy nodded, thanked them again, then looked to Ressler.

"I'm so sorry you and that other man got shot."

"Not your fault," Ressler assured him, then patted him on the shoulder before he and Samar turned to leave.

As they walked away, Ressler lowered his voice. "Tell me everything, and how I ended up killing the kid we came here for," he said, as they made their way across the road that was filled with vehicles, and back toward the jet.

###

Two hours later, they were back at the Post Office. Cooper was still trying to process what he'd been told. Aram was a little slower on the uptake.

"So, let me see if I have it now. Dillon Matthews was kidnapped at age 11, and lived with John O'Brien who had told Dillon his parents didn't want him anymore. Then at some point several years later, O'Brien died, and Dillon was alone. And with no other role model to guide him, he ended up kidnapping 12-year-old Jack Keller, and he himself took on O'Brien's persona. Right?"

Ressler sighed, his shoulder throbbing and nodded. "Right. Dillon Matthews became John O'Brien. Stockholm syndrome taken to its highest form," he said, his eyes drawn again to the image of the smiling 11-year-old Dillon.

"You didn't know that was Dillon behind that hoodie. None of us did," Samar told him again.

"I know," Ressler replied, his eyes dropping to the floor.

"We'll never know for sure, but I think this was a case of suicide by cop. I think some part of Dillon knew what he'd become, and when faced with the truth and surrounded today, he chose this way out, letting Jack go. By making Jack the prisoner, he knew it was the only way to stop the boy being fired on," Cooper said.

"Makes sense, in a warped sort of way," Samar agreed.

"But what about Mr and Mrs Matthews? I mean, he shot you, Agent Ressler," Aram asked.

"And I'm not pressing charges on him at all," Ressler said, meeting Cooper's eyes. "I don't want him punished for what he did. They've suffered enough."

"Agreed. The son they thought lost, was suddenly found and then dead at their feet. No purpose can be served by hauling Clarke Matthews off to jail. He'll likely be on probation for a while, but a free man."

Samar turned to Ressler. "We'll take you home. You don't look like you're in any condition to drive," she said, smiling at him.

He nodded, stepping down off the chair. "I'll be right back," he told her, then headed to his locker in the changing rooms. Grabbing a couple of sets of clothes, he stuffed them in a duffel bag, then went out to meet her again.

"Take a few days off, and let that shoulder heal," Cooper told him.

"Ready?" Samar asked him, and he nodded, walking to the elevator with her and Aram. "You're not going to your apartment, are you?" she asked, smiling. "I'll take you to the house. Which, you know, makes more sense, since there is a nurse there," she added, punching the button to the elevator.

###

It was late, and Ressler was unable to sleep. His room at Camp Liz was comfortable and warm, but with a mind that wouldn't shut down, coupled with the throbbing in his shoulder, he gave up and made his way to the large kitchen. Grabbing some water, he then headed for Liz's room.

Sliding inside the partially open door, he eased himself into the chair beside her bed, setting his water bottle on her bedside table. He didn't turn the light on, content to sit in the darkness, the soft glow from the ventilator and feed pump the only lights in the room.

He wanted to tell her what had happened. But he wasn't sure how to start. "I killed a kid today," wasn't exactly a conversation opener. But he had killed a kid. He leaned forward in the chair, and took hold of Liz's hand, squeezing it a little. Wanting to get some reaction out of her. But there was nothing. No hint that she knew anyone was with her. She slept on while life continued around her.

Ignoring his shoulder as best he could, he sat and held her hand. And the events of the day flooded back. The gun, pointing at what he'd thought was Dillon Matthew's head. Taking down the gunman he'd thought was John O'Brien. The look in Clarke Matthew's eyes at the sight of his dead son, and Stephanie screaming for her dead boy. He hadn't meant to hurt any of them. He'd only tried to bring their son back to them, and instead had shot him dead. His head dipped, and his eyes swam as he held Liz's hand.

And slowly, through tears that he could not stop now that they'd started, he leaned closer to her, and spoke to her.

"I killed a kid today, Liz… A young man," he cried. Not what he'd wanted to tell her. But it's what had happened. It's what needed to be let out. And tears falling, he held her hand tightly, more for his own support, and told her everything.


	7. Arrest Warrant

"Aram, are you sure?" Ressler asked again.

"I'm sorry, but I have gone over everything I can find that Liz's badge accessed, and nothing looks out of order or unusual."

It was late and most agents had left for the day. After the cases were done is when Ressler and Aram, and sometimes Samar, would get back to investigating what Liz's badge had been used for.

"This CODIS search, all we know is she accessed the database, but no details?"

"Not so far, no," Aram replied, looking up as Cooper left his office above them. Instinctively, he popped another window open on his screen, hiding what he and Ressler had been looking at.

"You two heading home soon?" Cooper asked, stopping at Aram's desk.

"Um, yeah, just finishing up, sir," Aram told their boss.

"Ressler, a word?"

Ressler stepped toward the elevator with Cooper as his boss spoke in hushed tones. "I have it on good authority that the DOJ is at the end of their rope. After four months with nothing from Reddington, it's all going to come down to a meeting of the top brass tomorrow morning. For all her dramatics, Cynthia Panabaker has actually held them off us for much longer than she'd originally said."

"What will they do?" Ressler asked.

"Well, if I had to make a guess I'd say Raymond Reddington will be arrested tomorrow."

Ressler grimaced. "Do we warn him? Give him one last chance to give us something before that happens?"

"I already called him. So he's fully aware and yet, unconcerned," Cooper replied, exhaling. "It's frustrating, to say the least."

"Yes," Ressler replied, his mind racing. If Reddington was arrested, there would be no more task force. They'd all be sent off to other field offices. There would be nothing for Liz to return to.

"Good night, Don," Cooper said, then stepped into the elevator.

###

Ressler had no sooner arrived at Camp Liz when he ran up the stairs to the second floor, stalked to the criminal's door and banged on it.

"Donald, I thought I'd be hearing your melodic tempo on my door soon. Enter."

Ressler tried very hard not to slam the door behind him as he entered. He half succeeded. "They are going to arrest you, you know that, right?" he started, not needing an introduction.

"Harold did mention that, yes. I hear the Federal Penitentiary in Colorado is lovely this time of year."

"How can you just stand there and not be concerned?!"

"I have nothing to be concerned about," Red replied, sitting on the recliner and crossing his legs comfortably.

"So it doesn't bother you that you'll be locked up for who knows how long in the Florence ADX?" Ressler asked, standing in front of the criminal. "There is no going back on this!"

"Donald, you really should calm down. It's not good for your blood pressure, or that shoulder that's still recovering," Red said pleasantly.

Ressler ignored the man. "You want this to happen." It wasn't a question.

Reddington shrugged dismissively. "What will happen, will happen."

"Bullshit!" Ressler spat at him, furious with the man. "I chased you for 5 years, and you did everything in your power to stop me finding and arresting you, and now you're just going to sit and let them do it?"

"It would appear so," Red answered, taking a sip of wine. "Would you like a glass? Wonderful aroma. Lovely vintage-"

"I don't want any wine. I want to know what the hell you're playing at," Ressler said, pacing on the carpet, flinging glances in the man's direction. He stopped, and stared into the fire for a moment, then slowly drew in a deep breath, turning to Red with dawning realization.

"Who is in this Federal pen that you so desperately need to see in person?"

Reddington just smiled, raising his glass. "That's the spirit, Donald."

###

The man was infuriating. He'd offered up nothing more than to admit Ressler was right, despite Ressler telling him there had to be another way. But all to no avail. Furious, Ressler left Reddington's room 15 minutes later, blasted down the hallway to his room, changed, and headed out into the grounds. He needed to run. And fast. Pounding down the pavement away from the large house, he turned, following the path that ran smoothly through the expansive gardens. His way lit by ornate solar lights, he ran until his chest heaved and his shoulder screamed for relief. In the month since he'd been shot by Clarke Matthews, Debbie had tended to it, glad to have another patient. It had healed well, but he still had to be careful. He slowed somewhat, still jogging in the brisk night air, his breath puffing in front of him.

From his window on the second floor, Reddington watched Ressler running, as Dembe stood beside him.

"He does not understand, Raymond."

"He does. He just doesn't like it," Reddington replied, watching as Ressler sprinted again, picking up the pace.

###

After running some of it out of his system, Ressler headed back inside, jogged to his room and took a hot shower. He was hungry, and headed to the kitchen.

"There you are," Debbie said, looking up from a book she was reading while sipping on tea.

"Hey, yeah, went for a run," he said, lifting the lid on a large casserole pot on the stovetop. "Is this ready?" he asked and at Debbie's reply, he hungrily filled a bowl, grabbed a couple of bread rolls and sat at the table across from her.

"What had you so riled up that you went for a run this time of night?" she asked, a knowing smile on her lips.

He shook his head, glancing up at her from over his bowl. "Just work stuff."

"Did it help?" she asked.

Ressler thought back to his conversation with Reddington, and what the DOJ would be doing tomorrow. "Not really. No." He couldn't elaborate, but when the man didn't return tomorrow, Debbie would soon figure it out.

After finishing his meal, he stood and washed his plate, then said goodnight to the nurse, left the kitchen and headed for Liz's room.

Since the night he'd told her about shooting Dillon Matthews, he'd started telling Liz everything, not holding back on anything work related. Keeping his voice quiet in case Debbie came in, he told her what Reddington was planning.

"I don't understand, Liz. Surely he can just get word to this prisoner and not need to go through this. This is suicide. If this all goes wrong, he may never get out of there."

He sat with her for a while, finding no peace except for the feel of her hand in his. "I don't know if you'll have a father or the task force to come back to," he told her gently. "But you'll still have people who care. Agnes is here, and growing like a weed," he told her. "It's her birthday next month… I can't believe she'll be two."

He stared at her. She had missed so much of her daughter's life. "You need to be there, Liz. Please, wake up for her." There was no movement in her eyes. He knew she was alive, but there was nothing to indicate that. With another squeeze of her hand, he stood, kissed her forehead and then headed back toward his room.

###

The following morning, Ressler and the others were in the Post Office war room, working, yet all distracted, waiting for the hammer to fall. The DOJ were meeting to discuss Reddington's future. Cooper's phone rang, startling them all.

He answered, listened, then only said one word. "Thank you," then hung up. He turned to his agents, and didn't even need to say it. It had happened. Reddington had been arrested for failure to keep up his end of the immunity agreement. "It's done."

"Really? They've arrested Mr. Reddington?" Aram asked, eyes darting to his fellow task force members.

Cooper simply nodded, then when his phone rang again, he stepped away to answer this one. "Cynthia. Yes, I just heard."

Ressler had not shared what Reddington had told him the night before. Not because he didn't believe the criminal, but because he knew the man well enough to know this now had to play out the way Reddington knew it would. It didn't help much though. There were too many variables.

Cooper stepped back to the group. "They'll be bringing him here."

"To the Box," Samar said, and Cooper nodded.

And less than an hour later, the elevator doors opened to reveal Reddington in chains, flanked by armed guards, with Cynthia Panabaker and other members of the DOJ bringing up the rear.

"Oh, my God…" Aram whispered as they stood by his desk as the criminal was led past them. Ressler met Red's eyes and unbelievably, the man smiled at Ressler. "Good morning," he told them, "I'm sorry, I don't have time to chat."

He was led past and down the hallway to where the box stood ready for him. Knowing this was going to happen and seeing it were worlds apart. Ressler followed the procession, but was stopped with a hand on his chest by one of the guards.

"It's okay, Don, we'll let them do what they need to do," Cooper told him, coming up beside him.

Ressler found his voice. "If he does change his mind, and give us something once he's in prison, will they reverse this decision?"

"I'm going to insist on it," Cooper told him, then patted his shoulder and headed down the hallway to speak with Panabaker.

Ressler wondered just how far Cooper's insistence would go as Aram and Samar came to stand beside him, seeing the activity down the end of the hall where the Box stood.

"This is bad. This is so bad," Aram said, and then glanced at them both. "Sorry. You already know this is bad."

But Ressler wasn't looking at Aram, but behind them, into the war room. "Where is Dembe?" he asked. The black man was not with Reddington.

###

Two hours later, they were still not allowed to venture near Reddington. The only one being allowed through was Cooper, and when he came back out to the war room, it was obvious he'd got nowhere with the criminal.

"Even sitting in that box, knowing they are hauling him off to prison isn't sufficient to make him turn around," Cooper said, exasperated.

"What happens to the task force now?" Samar asked.

"No one has thought that far ahead. For now, we continue as normal with our latest case," he told them, effectively ordering them back to work.

"Normal? There is nothing normal about this," Ressler said, leaning against Aram's desk.

"I know. But let's do what we do though. Ressler, Samar, we still need to talk with Rafferty, the owner of that gym and sport's shop," Cooper told them, following up on the money laundering case they'd been working on that morning.

"On it," Ressler told him, getting the address off a flustered Aram. Grabbing his keys, Ressler headed to the elevator, and all he could see was the image of Reddington being led out of it in chains. Not unlike when he'd captured Liz and brought her in to the war room, similarly shackled. And once seen, he couldn't unsee it, and was back to the day he'd arrested Liz, and dragged her back and placed her in the box himself. He'd promised her he'd keep her safe… and now she was lying in a bed, unable to wake up at all.

"Hey," Samar said, snapping her fingers.

He started, looking at her. The elevator was in the parking lot, and he was just standing there. With a sigh, he followed her to their vehicle. As she punched the address into the GPS, they left to go talk to their lead on the case.

###

And if it hadn't been enough deja vu, thinking of Liz in chains and the elevator, he had a flashback to Liz once more when his phone buzzed while he and Samar were talking with their contact. Ressler's heart lurched at who the text was from. It was Henry Prescott. He ignored it, still talking with the man they'd come to see. His phone buzzed again, and Samar glanced at him. Glancing at the phone again, he quickly typed to Prescott.

[I need a few minutes]

With Samar's eyes boring into him, he went back to trying to listen to Rafferty. But it was no good. Prescott was not having it. But of course he wasn't. The man had ZERO patience with anyone's needs but his own. Ressler's phone rang, and he quickly stepped away, apologizing to the man they were speaking with.

"I told you, I need a few minutes," he said into the phone, dropping his voice.

"I don't have a few minutes. I can't wait all day for you. I need this done now," Prescott told him.

"I can't get away. I'm working on a case," he told the man.

"Not my problem. I'm not the one who is trying to stay out of jail. I'm texting you an address. I need you heading there as soon as you get it." The line went dead, leaving no room for arguing.

Ressler hung up, grimacing as his phone buzzed again with the address. No instructions. Just an address he needed to be at. He turned back to Samar, catching her wary eye.

"Look, uh, I have something that can't wait that I need to take care of," he told her.

"Is everything okay?"

Ressler didn't think anything would ever be okay again. "Yeah, just gotta run and do this." Samar wasn't buying it, and he knew it. "Where are we on Rafferty?" he asked, quickly getting her mind back on the case at hand.

"He has another contact he wants us to meet with. But I can go. You go and do what you need and we can meet up there, if that works?"

"Thanks, he told her. "I'll call you when I'm done," he said, almost running out of the gym. Thankfully they were in a busy section of the city, and cabs were plentiful. As he hailed one, he jumped in, gave the driver the address, then sat back, heart pounding.

It turned out the address was where Prescott was waiting. Ressler saw him waiting as the cab pulled off the road. After paying the cab driver, Ressler strode over to where Prescott sat in a waiting car, then climbed into the passenger seat.

"You made good time. I'm impressed," Prescott said.

Ressler ignored him. "What do you need?" he asked, not looking at the man, but keeping his eyes looking out the front of the car.

"This," he said, and handed Ressler an envelope. I need you to put this back in that same evidence box you took it out of a few weeks ago."

"What? Why would I be putting it back?" Ressler asked, then looked at the sample inside the envelope. It was a hair. And while it looked the same, he knew it had to be a different hair to what had originally been in the envelope. "You know what, I don't care why." Ressler placed the envelope in his inside suit pocket, and exited the car.

Prescott called after him. "Make sure it gets put back by tomorrow afternoon. Have a pleasant day."

It took every ounce of restraint Ressler had to not turn back and punch the guys lights out. He hailed another cab, then realized he didn't know where he was going. "Wait," he told the driver, then called Samar. "Where are you?" he asked, then relayed the address to the cab driver.

"I'll be there soon," he told her and hung up, hating himself all over again as the single hair that weighed nothing felt like a dead weight against his chest.

###

He found Samar shortly after, and stood with her while she interviewed their next contact. Ressler was barely listening. All he could feel was the evidence bag in his pocket. No one could see it, yet he felt as if it glowed like pink neon for the world to see. He felt, more than saw Samar's eyes glancing at him as she talked with the guy. All Ressler could see was Reddington in chains. Liz in chains. How long before he was similarly in chains, hauled off for Hitchin's death and other crimes, like tampering with evidence?

"Thank you for your time," he heard Samar say, and the two of them turned to leave, the interview over. 

Ressler walked beside Samar, head down, hands shoved in his coat pockets.

"What's going on?" Samar asked, interrupting his thoughts. "Did you have to do something because of Reddington's arrest this morning?"

"No, just something I had to take care of," he told her, not meeting her eyes. "It's nothing."

"Nothing? This isn't nothing, Ressler."

"It's fine," he told her, then reached for the keys she had in her hand.

She stood a moment as he took the keys. "Fine it is, then," she replied, then climbed into the passenger seat.

Ressler could still feel her eyes looking over to him as he drove them back to the Post Office. He ignored her. Would Reddington still be in the Box, he wondered. Would he still be in chains? Again, his own possible arrest loomed over him. Prescott had told him that would only happen if he suddenly grew a conscience. But he'd always had that conscience. Would confessing to Hitchin's death actually feel any worse than this did? He didn't know anymore. But what would it do to the task force, if one of their own was known to have killed the National Security Advisor. It would be Liz on the run all over again and he knew how-

"Ressler!"

Samar's shout cut through his mind as the car came to a sudden, screeching, metal crunching halt. He looked up frantically as his seatbelt locked, cutting painfully into his left shoulder as the car crumpled into the utility van in front of them, stoving the front end of their SUV in. They came to a sudden, shuddering stop, their vehicle now smoldering inside the back end of the wrecked van in front.

"What the hell?! Damn it, Ressler! You could have got us killed!" Samar shouted as car horns blared around them.

Breathing heavy, his seatbelt still locked, Resslers first thought was 'what the hell happened?' Why hadn't he seen the van stopped at the light in front of them? His second thought was for the evidence bag in his pocket. It was still there, still sitting inside his pocket.

"Why didn't you stop?! I told you it was a red light! Didn't you SEE it?!" Samar was still yelling at him. If she'd told him that, he had not heard it. And no, he had not seen it.

"I didn't… I'm sorry," he gasped, finally unlocking his seatbelt that was still cutting into his torso.

"Are you hurt?" she asked, looking him over, but still furious with him.

"I don't think so," he said, trying to open his door to no avail. "How about you?"

"I'm okay," she tossed back at him, unhooking her own seat belt, then scrabbling on the floor to find her phone that had gone flying. She dialed a number. "Aram, we've had a car accident. We need- Yes, yes, we're both fine, I think," she said, looking again to Ressler, then at the people gathering outside their vehicle. "Aram, we're okay. Can you see our GPS, and send another car for us?" she asked him. "I don't know if we need an ambulance. I haven't been able to check on the vehicle we ran into."

Her car door was pulled open as people reached into them, asking if they were okay. Samar gingerly climbed out of the car, but Ressler just sat there. His right knee hurt, he was realizing. But that's not why he was still sitting there. He felt numb. Not physically, but mentally. That, plus his car door wouldn't open, having been damaged in the impact. With an effort, as helpful bystanders assisted him, they pulled him across the center console and out of the passenger side door.

Standing on the pavement beside the wrecked SUV, favoring his right leg, he assured the many questioning good Samaritans that he was okay. Samar was still on the phone with Aram.

Ressler hobbled toward a man sitting on the pavement. The driver of the van. "Are you okay?" he asked and the man gave him a thumbs up. "I'll be fine. My neck hurts, but workers comp will take care of it," he said. Ressler saw the company name on the van he'd run into. "And hey, if not, I can just sue the Feds. You're FBI, right?" the man said, a little too gleefully. Ressler stared at him. Just add it to his growing list of felonies, he thought and turned back to Samar who was now off the phone as the sound of an ambulance siren grew closer.

###

Cooper met them at the elevator as they came back over an hour later. "You're sure you're okay?" he asked, seeing Ressler limping.

Ressler nodded. "Looks worse than it feels," he lied.

"It could have been worse," Samar said, glancing at Ressler.

Ressler was thinking it was plenty bad. "Is Reddington still here?" he asked their boss, needing to change the subject.

"No, they moved him an hour ago. He's on a jet heading to Colorado and the maximum security prison."

Ressler eased himself into his chair at his desk, and looked up at Cooper. "And he didn't say anything else?"

"Not a word. If this is some elaborate plan of this, he's keeping it close to his chest."

Ressler rubbed his swollen knee, not meeting his boss's eyes.

"There is some good news though. Panabaker agreed that if Reddington has a sudden change of heart in the next 72 hours, they'll reverse his arrest warrant."

Ressler gave a small smile. Reddington had known that all along though.

"Look, the briefing on today's events can wait. My driver will drop you off wherever you need to go," Cooper told him. Ressler smiled gratefully at the offer. The last place he needed to be right now was behind the wheel of another vehicle.

###

Debbie greeted him as he limped into the kitchen. She had her own room, yet she liked to hang out in the kitchen, close to Liz and in the hub of the large house.

"What have you done to yourself now, Don?" she asked, rising to meet him as he sat carefully in a chair.

"Oh, you know me," he said, not elaborating as the nurse kneeled down to check his knee.

"I do," she agreed, giving him the once over.

"I'm fine," he told her. "Had a little run in with another vehicle."

"Whatever did you do without a live-in nurse?" she asked him, looking into his tired eyes and giving him a smile. "Are you hungry?"

"A little," he told her, and rose to his feet.

"Sit down and let me get you something," she told him, and he looked at her gratefully. Even getting himself some food felt too difficult right now.

She set out a plate of food for him, and as was her habit, sat across from him as he ate quietly. "Hard day?" she asked, and he looked up.

"Very," he replied.

He sat with the nurse for a little while, finishing his meal, then stood up and limped down the hallway to visit Liz. He had a lot to tell her tonight, minus the part about him tampering with evidence and his blackmailing Fixer, of course.

###

As he passed Agnes' room on his way to his own, he heard a little whimper that then quickly grew to a full on cry. He was right outside her room, and opened the door to find the baby standing in her crib, wailing.

"Hey, hey, I know. Life is hard," he told her softly, leaning down to her and rubbing her back. He glanced behind to see if Dembe was coming, but he was alone with the baby. He hadn't held her until now, because every time he had tried, it was as if he had some anti-Dembe vibe that didn't settle Agnes at all. But she surprised him, holding her chubby little arms and hands up to him as he leaned down to her, gently talking to her as she cried.

"You want uncle Donnie?" he asked, then gently put his hands under her arms, ignoring the strain on his left shoulder and hoisted her out of her crib and held her against his chest. She still cried, but he smiled a little as he felt the baby snuggle her wet cheek into his neck as he rubbed her back.

"I got you, sweetie," he whispered, as the baby still whimpered, but it was dialing down now. "I got you," he told her, gently rocking as he held her, ignoring his knee. He stood by the window and looked down into the gardens, seeing the path he'd run on the night before, and felt the baby shift in his arms as her head snuggled more into him and her crying eased.

Behind him, unseen, Dembe stood in the hallway at Agnes's door. He'd heard Agnes cry and had got up automatically to go to her. But he'd stopped at the sight of Ressler picking up the baby, and standing back in the shadows, he watched silently as the FBI agent held the baby and gently eased her crying. Smiling, he slipped back to his room, not needed tonight.

"That's my girl," Ressler told Agnes softly, gently sitting in the padded rocking chair with her, holding her close as he rocked. It was easier than standing. Her cries were replaced with the soft snuffles of her sleeping against him. He held her close against him, placing a nearby blanket over her. Feeling the rise and fall of her little body against him, he felt the tension ebb from his body with every breath the baby took. And eventually, he slept, still holding her safely against him under the blanket.


	8. Maximum Security

In the 2 days since Reddington had been arrested and incarcerated at the Florence ADX in Colorado, the task force had been walking on eggshells. Worried looks at the elevator every time it opened had become the norm, waiting for the top brass at the DOJ to waltz back in and reassign everyone. So far it hadn't happened, but that didn't stop the task force worrying.

"They'd say something first, right? Call Cooper before shutting us down?" Aram asked for about the 10th time. No one answered him.

Ressler looked at his watch again. It had been 48 hours now since Reddington's arrest. He only had 24 more hours to give them something before the window of opportunity closed and he remained incarcerated for the rest of his life.

The elevator opened again, and as they all looked up, they were greeted with the sight of their boss entering. Cooper strode up to them and handed Aram a thumb drive with their latest case on it. As Aram set about getting the images up on the screen, Cooper pulled Ressler aside.

"Nothing yet from Reddington. Whatever he's up to, and I'm sure he is, he's going to have to move fast now. Panabaker assures me he has until 8am tomorrow morning before they pull the rug out from under him."

Ressler still had not confirmed Cooper's suspicions. Something else that was eating at his conscience. He'd been second guessing what Reddington had said. Maybe the criminal really did feel it was time he paid for his numerous crimes behind bars. Maybe it was time he also came clean, after replacing Prescott's switched evidence back in the FBI evidence locker yesterday morning. "I don't know. None of this makes much sense anymore," he told his boss, shaking his head and looking away.

Cooper narrowed his eyes, studying Ressler. "Everything okay?"

He met his boss's eyes. The truth, as far as he could share, was his best ally. "No. Reddington's in jail. Liz has been in a coma almost 5 months, and we're facing shutdown. Everything is not okay."

"Yeah, I hear you," Cooper said, patting Ressler's shoulder. "You look tired, Don. Maybe you should take some time off. Regroup. Head up to your cabin?"

It sounded inviting. Ressler pondered it briefly, but as long as he was tied to Prescott, he needed to be working, able to run at his beck and call. He gave his boss a small smile. "I'm fine. What case did you get us this morning?" he asked, motioning to the monitors above them.

Cooper looked at his lead agent a moment more, then nodded, getting back to the job at hand. At least as long as they were still together, they'd keep working cases.

Ressler stood a moment longer as Cooper headed over to Aram, then motioned to the monitors, beginning his briefing. Ressler looked toward the elevator again, and it's silent, stony guards either side of it. The elevator that prisoners were marched out of in chains. He'd told his boss the truth. Everything was not okay.

###

Ressler was in his office when he heard the elevator doors open. He glanced up and his heart hit the floor. Cynthia Panabaker was entering, and heading straight for Cooper's office. Outside his window, Aram and Samar stood together, watching the red headed woman march up the stairs. Ressler eased out of his chair, his knee still tender, and joined them.

"This is it. Oh, man. This is it. We're done." Aram said, and Samar hushed him.

Cooper appeared at the top of the stairs and looked straight down at the gathered trio below him. "Agent Ressler, in my office now, please," he called down to them, not even taking the time to walk down the stairs.

"Uh oh," Aram whispered, as his and Samar's eyes shot to Ressler.

Ressler swallowed, and for a second couldn't move. Aram was right. This was it. Somehow they'd found out about Hitchin, Prescott, his evidence tampering and the entire mess.

"Go," Samar urged, giving him the momentum he needed to actually put one foot in front of the other and get going toward the stairs.

The metal clanging under his dress shoes echoed in his ears while his right knee complained at the incline. With heart hammering, he stepped into Cooper's office to be met by his boss and Panabaker. "Yes, sir?" he asked, his mouth dry.

"Pack your bag, Agent Ressler," Panabaker said before Cooper could even say a word, and his heart lurched. He WAS going away. "You're going on a road trip."

"Reddington is asking to speak with you," Cooper clarified, leaning back against his desk.

"What? Me?" Ressler asked, relief flooding over him.

"He has specifically asked only for you, yes," Cooper told him. "The jet is standing by at Dulles, ready to get you to his cell in Colorado. We'll be accompanying you, but only you will actually be going in to talk to the man."

"Daylight's a burnin'," Panabaker said, "so let's not keep anyone waiting here."

Recovering his wits, Ressler faced the woman. "What did he say? Anything I need to do or take?"

Panabaker gave him a short laugh. "That danged criminal. The only thing he said, and I quote, is 'I speak only to Donald Ressler.'"

Ressler met Cooper's eyes. Reddington had kept his promise on that.

"Grab your gear, we're leaving right now," Cooper said.

###

In mere minutes after Panabaker's arrival, Ressler, Cooper and Panabaker hurriedly left the Post Office, after quickly telling Aram and Samar what was going on. They sped across the city toward the airport, and once airborne, Ressler leaned back in the comfortable chair of the jet, watching the clouds outside the small window. Cooper sat on the other side of the aisle, talking with Panabaker, both looking through some folders.

With two and a half hours of flight time ahead of them, Ressler had plenty of time to think. Which wasn't exactly a good thing. His phone was turned off for the flight, yet still he looked at it on occasion. What if Prescott wanted something? Would the fact he was half way across the country make any difference to the Fixer? The only saving grace was that Prescott also couldn't call Cooper during the flight to let him know his lead agent was a murderer. He glanced at Cooper, who had now moved the files aside and was settling back for a nap. Panabaker had moved forward in the jet and he could no longer see her beyond the seat back in front of him. Ressler envied Cooper. His own mind was too chaotic to even think about sleep.

As they descended to land near Pueblo, Colorado, some time later, Ressler could see their destination. Situated in the plains, the prison complex was comprised of large diamond shapes, somewhat resembling baseball fields from the air. They flew over a small town, then came in to land at the small county airport. Ressler exited the jet and immediately felt the cold mountain air sweep around them. A black SUV was waiting for their party, and the trio made their way to it. Once inside, the local field agent drove them through the small town, then onto a wide expanse. In the distance, the guard towers rose from the surrounding plains.

"I'll wait for you here," the driver told them as they pulled up at the large facility.

Ressler followed Cooper and Panabaker as they were escorted into the first building. Despite the fact Reddington had asked for him, he felt like a tourist, going along for the ride with the big guns. Cooper and Panabaker stayed back behind the first guarded door they came to, letting Ressler go the rest of the way.

"I want to know every word he says. Every word, Agent Ressler," Panabaker told him.

He nodded to her, glanced at Cooper, then followed the prison guard through a locked gate. The prison was quiet, sterile and clean. After what seemed an endless series of metal detectors, locked doors, bars, lock boxes for his weapon, badge and phone, Ressler was finally led into a small room, divided by a row of thick bars across the middle. On the visitor side was a solitary chair. On the prisoner side was a cylindrical block of concrete. He stood waiting, and then the door beyond the bars was opened, and Reddington was led in. Heavily shackled, wearing an orange jumpsuit, he was deposited on the concrete seat. The guards shackled him to two rings in the floor, checked them, then left, standing outside the closed door on Reddington's side of the room. Reddington and Ressler were alone.

"Donald, lovely of you to come," Red said, smiling.

Ressler shook his head, offering a small smile. "Not like I had a lot of choice. You sure have a flare for the dramatics. Couldn't we have just as easily spoken in D.C. before you came here?"

"Oh, come now. Dramatic I may be, but this was necessary." Red's eyes sparkled and Ressler got the distinct impression the criminal was enjoying this. "Sit down, Donald. You're making the room cluttered."

With a sigh, Ressler sat, facing the criminal through the bars. "So, what have you got for me?"

"I thought you'd be pleased that I finally wanted to talk with you, and only you. Can't two friends just have a bit of a chat?" Red asked.

Ressler regarded him. Reddington was a lot of things to him. Friend could be in there, he surmised, letting out a brief chuckle. "I'm on the Bureau's dime. Panabaker and Cooper are waiting. We don't have a lot of time."

Red chuckled also. "Aaahh, Cynthia. So they let her out of the big house to take a little ride, I see." He then grew more serious. "What I have for you is what you've wanted from the beginning. A name. A case," Red replied, his eyes never leaving Ressler, studying him.

"And who would that be?"

"Anthony Nash," Red replied, getting down to the business at hand.

"Who is Anthony Nash?"

"He's the CEO and founder of the Nash Drug Syndicate."

"And what is this drug syndicate to us?" Ressler asked.

"On the surface, nothing. Just a regular old drug company. But underneath, oh, that's where things get interesting. Thugs for hire. Money laundering. Murder. I don't think there is much that dear old Anthony hasn't had his sticky fingers involved in."

"Okay, so we talk to this guy," Ressler said, somewhat disappointed that this wasn't the earth shattering, game changing case he'd half expected after Reddington had gone to such lengths to bring it to them.

"Oh, he won't tell you anything, Donald."

Ressler leaned back in his chair, frustrated.

"But the right word in his ear, and all of that will change. He'll sing like a little bird."

"Yeah? And what would that right word be?" Ressler asked. He was used to Reddington's method of sharing information, as frustrating as it was.

"Mark Nash is also incarcerated here. And dear Anthony, well, let's just say he'd do anything to keep his little brother locked up. Especially once he hears who Mark's cell mate is."

"You got to Mark Nash. You threatened this guy?"

"Threaten is such an ugly word, don't you think?" Red asked, cocking his head. "No, I have yet to speak with Mark, but I have proof on who really committed the crime that Mark is in here for. And I can share that with the lovely fellow at any time. Anthony really wouldn't want me to do that. So yes, I believe dear Anthony will spill the beans on anything to keep that information under wraps. He just needs to be given the right persuasion to tell us what we want to know."

"So, Anthony Nash committed the crime, or had the crime committed, and framed his brother Mark," Ressler summarized.

"Exactly, Donald. So getting this individual off the street and shutting down his whole operation will be a nice feather in the cap for dear Cynthia and her cronies at the DOJ, wouldn't you say?"

"That should appease them. Assuming it's enough for them to stick to their end of the deal and revoke this…" Ressler looked around at where they were sitting, "arrangement you were so willing to go through with."

Reddington laughed, shaking his head at the FBI agent. "Why, Donald, underneath that starched shirt and pressed suit, I believe you're worried about me."

Ressler smiled, shaking his head at the criminal. He WAS worried, no denying it.

Red calmed, then looked at Ressler again. "There is something else about Anthony that will be of far more interest to you personally, though."

Now Ressler was interested. "Oh? What would that be?"

Red leaned forward, as far as the shackles would allow. "Part of his business was thugs for hire. He supplied the men who were in Elizabeth's apartment the night she was attacked and Tom was killed."

Ressler's heart jumped. He stood, taking a step closer to the bars. "Wait. What? You know who did this to her?" He gripped the bars, staring at Reddington. "What do you know that you haven't told us?"

Red looked up at him. "Settle, Donald, before you upset the guards. I identified the bodies in Elizabeth's apartment which-"

"Bodies? There were no bodies in-" Ressler looked away, his mind racing, then glared at the shackled Reddington. "You moved the bodies the night it happened? You tampered with a crime scene?"

Red studied Ressler, sighing. "You're upset. I told you there were things  _I_  needed to do, not you, and this was it."

"You're damn right I'm upset!" Ressler shot at him, leaving the bars and pacing around the small area on his side of the bars.

"Donald, those dead men led me to Nash. But without this little…" his eyes took in the small room, "sojourn, I was not in a position to act on it. None of us were. Unfortunately, Cynthia's overzealous efforts to keep me out of this place impeded my own investigation."

"You withheld evidence. You tampered with a crime scene!" And even as Ressler yelled at the criminal, the hairs on the back of his neck prickled. He himself had tampered with evidence for Prescott.

"That I did, Donald. Like I said, I knew this would affect you more personally," Red told him, following the pacing agent with his eyes.

Ressler shook his head, glaring at the criminal. "I breathe one word of this to Panabaker, and they won't reinstate your immunity agreement. They'll lock you up permanently and throw away that key. You know that, right?"

Red regarded him calmly. "Well, there are worse places to live out one's life. At least I'll know I did my best to find those responsible for what happened to our girl."

Ressler's mind was reeling. Red had moved the bodies that would have given them their best lead on the case. It would have been an FBI crime scene. As it was, the evidence guys who'd gone in the following day had found only what he and the team had cleaned up a week later. He turned back to Reddington. "You cleaned up the evidence of the bodies. Where are the bodies now?"

"In a safe place. A location that your friend Frank Sturgeon is more than familiar with."

Ressler's heart jumped as he grabbed at the bars. No! He stared at Reddington, unable to trust his voice.

"Yes, our mutual associate did the cleanup. Or, half clean up, I should say," Red clarified.

"Prescott?" Ressler almost choked on the name, his chest heaving.

"If you want to check those bodies, he's the one you're going to have to ferret out. Do you still have his number?"

It was all Ressler could do not to throw up.

"Donald, you look unwell."

Ressler spun around and banged on the door. He had to get out of there and away from Reddington.

###

Outside the interview room, he leaned against the white wall, gasping for air. A guard asked if he was okay, and Ressler nodded, swallowed hard, and then straightened. "I'm fine. Get me out of here."

He followed the guard through the twists and turns, locked doors, and finally back to the room where they'd first entered the prison. After having his gun, badge and phone returned to him, he entered the room where Cooper and Panabaker were waiting.

"Well, it's about time, Agent Ressler. What was it, Happy Hour and you and Reddington tossed back a few cold ones together?"

Ressler ignored the woman, willing his heart rate to settle.

Cooper put his hand on Ressler's shoulder, staring at his lead agent. "Don? What happened in there? What did he say?"

Meeting Coopers eyes, he kept his voice as steady as he could. "He gave us a case." He looked to Panabaker. "A Blacklister case."

"Well it must be a long and involved one, for how long it took him to explain it. What is the case?" she asked, as Cooper motioned to some comfortable chairs in the empty waiting area. Ressler just wanted to get out of there, but he complied and sat down with them.

Just keep it together, he told himself. He then explained about Anthony Nash and his drug syndicate, and it being a cover for murder for hire, money laundering and all manner of criminal activities.

Cooper was studying Ressler as he spoke. "And that's all he said?"

Ressler met his eyes. "About the case, yes."

"Well, what else did he say? I told you, I wanted to hear every cotton pickin' word the man uttered," Panabaker pressed. "His immunity agreement depends on it."

Ressler had to give them something. "He just talked. About Agent Keen and what had happened to her," he said, and that part was true. "About the prison, people who are in here," again, no lies there. "About you," he said, looking to Panabaker. Another truth. Panabaker looked as if she was about to ask what Reddington had said about her, then thought better of it.

"You know Reddington. It can take him forever to say what most of us can condense to a couple of sentences," Ressler told them, as his breathing and heart rate slowly calmed.

"Ain't that the truth," Panabaker agreed, "the man does not know when to stop talking at times."

Cooper regarded Ressler, then looked to Panabaker. "Is it enough to get him out of here?"

"If his information on this Anthony Nash pans out and we shut his operation down, then yes, I believe the DOJ will see that Reddington is back in our court."

"So, the sooner we get to work and get this guy off the street, the sooner Reddington can be let out of here," Cooper said, looking to Ressler again. "Then let's get out of here and get to work," he said, rising to his feet.

Ressler stood with them, and once again walked behind them as they left the prison complex and headed to their waiting car. Reddington had left his fate in his hands. And he'd done just what Red had known he would. He had not spilled one word about needing to blackmail Nash, or the crime scene cover up, assuring Reddington's release and continued immunity deal with the Bureau. Was that any different to what he was doing for Prescott? He didn't know. He just didn't know who he was anymore.

He didn't hear Cooper ask him something while they drove to the airport, lost in his own thoughts. And once on the jet, Cooper came and sat beside him, and attempted once more to find out just what exactly Reddington had said that had obviously upset his lead agent.

"Don, he must have said more. I understand if you don't want…others… to hear," Cooper said, glancing to Panabaker at the front of the jet, "but I know Reddington. And I doubt it's going to be the cake walk he says, from the information you've given us so far."

Ressler came to a decision, and keeping his voice low, barely above a whisper, he spoke with his boss. "He has information on Anthony Nash regarding framing his brother, Mark, for murder. Reddington is right there with Mark Nash in the prison. He has proof of Mark's innocence and Anthony Nash is not going to want that to get out. Basically, I'm supposed to use that to blackmail Nash into giving us information."

"On what?" Cooper prompted. "What else is there that Nash is involved in that wouldn't come to light in the investigation?"

Ressler sighed. "Information on the men who attacked Liz and killed Tom," he said, feeling some of the weight lift from him as he shared that with this boss.

Cooper nodded slowly, understanding Ressler's reluctance to share that with Panabaker. "I see. That would have been difficult for Reddington, if that got out," he said, and patted Ressler's arm. "I'm glad you told me. The DOJ don't need to know exactly how we get information." He looked at Ressler, "And we'll definitely look into it, and see what else we can find on Elizabeth's case."

Cooper patted Ressler's arm, then went back to his own seat. Across from him, Ressler looked out the window at the clouds drifting by. He was still withholding information. Unable to go anywhere near the fact Prescott had disposed of bodies and cleaned the crime scene at Liz's apartment, and the can of worms that would open.

He leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes. But his brain wouldn't shut down. One thought kept returning to the fore. Years ago, he'd asked Reddington how he could be the person he was. How he'd turned from being groomed for Admiral to #4 on the FBI's Most Wanted list. He opened his eyes again, unable to stand the claustrophobic feel that gave him, and gazed at the clouds again. He finally understood. It was so clear now, how a good man could so easily slip down and be trapped in an impossible situation. "We become who we are," Red had told him.

Ressler took a shuddering breath. He didn't like who he'd become.


	9. Lies and Half-Truths

A month later, Ressler was awake in the middle of the night, sitting quietly with Liz. It was somewhere he didn't have to answer to anyone. He could sit quietly, not quite alone, and just think. Talk if he wanted, and tell Liz things he wasn't willing to share with everyone. But still, he could not bring himself to tell her the complete mess he was in. He had told her a modified version of what he'd told Cooper though.

Reddington had been right. Of course. The Nash Drug Syndicate was just a front, and underneath was an underground network that the Bureau was still sifting through, weeks later. Anthony Nash had been quiet as a mouse at first, swearing on his grandmother's grave that there was nothing illegal going on and feigning cooperation. But when Ressler had pulled the man aside and told him who was in prison with his brother Mark, and the fact Reddington had proof that could set Mark free, he could literally see the blood drain from Nash's face. The thought of being exposed for that murder and his family at his brother's mercy if released had made him sing like a canary, just like Reddington had said he would.

But getting to the bottom of why he'd had his men attack Liz had been a different matter. Nash had insisted he did not know who'd hired him. His client always called from a burner phone and he had no way to contact the man. And after weeks of this, Ressler was inclined to believe him. He had no reason to hide that anymore. He was going to jail for life. The one lead Ressler thought he'd had on Liz's attack was still a dead end.

Like the dead bodies Red had Prescott clean up. Ressler still had not contacted the Fixer on that. He could not bring himself to willingly contact the man.

He leaned forward, took Liz's soft hand in his and looked at her in the soft lamp light of her room. She was thinner. Despite the nutrition and physical therapy Debbie was giving her, her muscles were atrophying from lack of use. Her cheek bones were more pronounced under the vent. She'd lain in this bed for almost 7 months.

He longed to see her eyes. Hear her voice and see her smile. He was beginning to think he'd never see her awake again. And that hurt very much.

"Please, Liz… please wake up," he whispered to her. She had missed her daughter's second birthday. She'd missed most of her life, in fact. "We had Agnes's birthday party," he told her, his face close by hers. "Aram insisted on this pink mermaid cake. He was very proud of it, and picked it up before the party. Agnes, well she was more interested in the boxes her presents came in. And she wore most of the cake," he told her, smiling at that memory. "She had a good time though, Liz. You'd be so proud of her. She's getting to be so big now." He'd already told her about Agnes's birthday party the day they'd had it, weeks prior. But he found himself repeating things, just to be talking with her.

A sound behind him in the direction of the kitchen stopped him, and he listened. The distinct tone of Reddington's voice reached his ears, and he leaned back. Reddington had been released from Florence three days earlier, yet had gone to ground right after. Despite the fact his immunity agreement had been reinstated the day after Ressler visited him, the DOJ had been in no hurry to release him. And so it was weeks later before his paperwork was finally done. It was the first time Ressler had heard the man since they'd spoken in prison. Footsteps approached Liz's room, and the door opened more as Reddington stepped into the room.

"Donald, I'm sorry, I didn't know you'd be in here."

Ressler got up from the chair, not particularly wanting to talk with the man. "It's okay, I was just heading for bed. You can sit with her," he told the criminal. The man hadn't seen her in almost a month. He deserved some time with her.

Reddington approached the bed, and dropped his fedora onto a dresser. He stood in the soft light, taking in the sight of her. "She's gotten smaller…"

Ressler nodded. "She has. She's…fading away." He turned to leave the room.

Red's hand was on his arm. "I won't be long, Dembe's just getting a meal together in the kitchen, if you'd join us."

Ressler paused, not looking at the man. "It's late, I'm gonna head to bed." Reddington's arm dropped from his.

"Goodnight, Donald."

###

He may have escaped talking with Red in the early hours, but he could not avoid the knock on his door in the morning. Ressler opened it to find Red standing there, hat literally in his hand.

"May I come in?"

Still doing up his tie, Ressler stepped aside silently, and let the man enter.

"I've come to apologize," Red said, getting straight to the point.

"Why?" Ressler didn't ask for what. He already knew that.

Reddington nodded. "Because it warrants one." He then continued, "I'm sorry that the lead I gave you on Nash has not panned out like I had hoped regarding Elizabeth's attackers."

"We're still trying to find who hired Nash. Nothing yet, but we're still looking," Ressler told him, putting his suit jacket on. "But with the men who carried it out conveniently dead and disposed of, that's not looking promising."

"Point taken. But I did tell you where to find them," Red replied. "I also came to thank you."

Ressler didn't need to ask what for either. He really could read the man like a book. He didn't know if that was a good thing.

"I put you in a very difficult position with Cynthia Panabaker, and yet, here I stand, a free man again, thanks to you."

Ressler almost said "You owe me one," but didn't. Not with his new life of owing Prescott favors.

"So, I owe you one."

"Where have you been?" Ressler asked, ignoring the comment.

"Oh, here and there. After getting out of my 10 x 12 concrete box, I needed to stretch my legs somewhat."

"For three days?"

"Yes." Reddington turned to Ressler, studying the agent. "I'm sorry our last meeting was so…upsetting to you," he said, softening his voice.

Ressler didn't want to talk about that, and stepped toward the door to grab his overcoat.

"A few months ago I told you that if you were ever in a position you needed something, I could help."

Ressler looked down, not meeting Red's eyes. "Yeah, well, like I said then, I don't need any help."

"I don't believe that's entirely true, Donald. When we spoke in the prison, you didn't become unglued until I mentioned Henry Prescott."

Ressler's heart jumped. "I gotta go," he said, pulling on his overcoat and heading for the door. The fact it was his room and he was leaving Reddington in it didn't matter. It was Red's house.

"I know how easy it is for a good man to find himself in a bad situation. Trust me. I know how it happens, and it always starts with a favor."

Ressler was suddenly back in the car with Prescott.  _You're gonna be doing me some favors in the very near future._  He left the room without saying another word.

Red stood in Ressler's room, slowly shaking his head. "Oh, Donald…what a tangled web we weave," he murmured, before putting on his hat and walking to the window. He watched Ressler exit the house and drive away.

###

Ressler's conversation with Red was still sitting uncomfortably with him. But it had prompted him to do something he should have done weeks ago. Pulling his phone from his pocket as he drove, he found the number, then dialed it.

"What do you want?" Prescott said in his ear.

"We need to talk."

"We talk when I say we talk. You don't call those shots,  _Mr. Sturgeon_." Prescott emphasized his undercover name, making it sound like a dirty word. Which, of course, it was.

Ressler wasn't having it this time. "A few months ago, you cleaned up a crime scene. Got rid of a few bodies from an apartment. I need access to those bodies."

"Oh, you need access? Since when do I do favors for you? Not gonna happen." Prescott hung up in his ear.

As soon as the line went dead, Ressler texted Aram while he drove. [Gotta take care of something. Be there asap] He ignored Aram's return text asking him if he was working on a case. He then turned at the next light, changing direction as he drove across town to the neighborhood he'd been in over a year previously. A residential neighborhood with a non-descript storage shed at the back of a large lot. Henry Prescott's body dump. The area was quiet as he pulled in some time later. Exiting the car, feeling the hairs on the back of his neck prickle at the memory of his previous visit and Reven Wright's discovery, he walked toward the shed. The storage shed was padlocked with a heavy chain. But he'd expected that. After a trip around the entire building, satisfied there was no other way inside, he settled in to wait.

And it didn't take long. Ressler felt a twinge of satisfaction when Prescott arrived 20 minutes later. "Agent Ressler, what are you doing here?"

"Waiting for you," Ressler told him, rising from the tree log he'd been sitting on.

"I told you, you don't call the shots."

Ressler gave a shrug. "And yet, here you are." He peered in the closest dirty window. "Some of your drums contain bodies from a crime scene you cleaned up in an apartment for Raymond Reddington."

Prescott regarded him. "If I do this for you, you're gonna be doing favors for me for a very, very long time. I will own you for years longer than our original agreement," he replied, turning this to his advantage.

Ressler ignored that. He already knew that was how Prescott would spin this. "They're part of an ongoing case my team is investigating. And don't think you can show me different bodies. I'm looking for November 15th, 2017." For the first time it occurred to him that Liz was attacked almost two years to the date from Reven's murder.

"You're mine," Prescott told him, then fished out some keys from his pocket. As the padlock and chains fell away, and they stepped into the dark depository of silent drums, Ressler's mind was filled with memories of finding Reven Wright. Grabbing a flashlight, he followed Prescott through the murky room, to stand before 4 drums with the date he was looking for. Taking the offered gloves and mask, he knew the drill as Prescott pried off the lid to the first drum.

"What are you gonna do with them?" Prescott asked, shining his flashlight into the drum to reveal the head of someone under the formaldehyde.

"Print them," Ressler said, taking the kit from his coat pocket. He'd got it from his vehicle while waiting on Prescott. "Identify them."

And it was no easy task, having to get each arm, dry the hands and then print each finger, remarkably preserved in the liquid. He also took photos of their faces, dried off as best he could. But as they moved to each drum, he was inwardly surprised at Prescott's assistance. But then he also knew the price of this. Prescott was right. He owned him. He squashed it down, concentrating on getting all the prints of the four men. As he got the final prints, putting all of it back in the bag and in his coat pocket, Prescott resealed the final drum.

They exited the building, and Ressler was glad of the fresh air after breathing in the chemicals in the shed for so long. As Prescott chained and padlocked the door behind him, he turned to Ressler.

"Don't ever call me again. I contact you. You got that?"

"Loud and clear," Ressler told him as the Fixer walked away. But he'd got what he came for. He couldn't think about what it had cost him. Because it was worth it if it led to more information on what had happened to Liz.

###

"Where did you get these?" Samar asked him as Aram busied himself with the four sets of prints.

"Reddington. He got a lead and says these men were in Liz's apartment the night she was attacked." It worried Ressler how quickly he could lie these days. But then, it was actually the truth, just stretched. Very stretched. He left out the part about them being dead and hidden in drums of formaldehyde by his Fixer for months.

"This shouldn't take too long to run them through CODIS," Aram told him, breaking into his thoughts.

CODIS, thought Ressler. They still had never found what search Liz, or Tom with Liz's badge had run. It felt like he was playing chess with half his pieces missing. And the knowledge that the King on the board, Reddington, knew more than he was sharing was growing. Not that it was a new feeling where Reddington was concerned. But coupled with his own hiding of details from everyone around him, it was doubly frustrating.

Cooper came up to them. "Reddington is back. He just called with a case and he'll be here soon," he told his team. "Aram, what are you working on?"

"Oh, um, it's…"

"Prints I asked him to run. Information that Reddington supplied on men present the night Liz was attacked."

Cooper raised his eyebrows. "I see. So you've already spoken to Reddington today."

Ressler shifted his eyes. "Yeah, well, we do spend time in the same house, currently."

Cooper smiled and nodded. Ressler's explanation was sufficient, though it was obvious from the prolonged gaze at Ressler, he knew the agent wasn't telling everything. "This is a good lead. Aram, anything coming up on the prints?"

"Nothing… not a thing yet, but I'm still looking in other databases," he replied, keeping his eyes to his screen.

A prickle of unease ran through Ressler. If these men were in the system, CODIS would have flagged them by now. Unless…

"These men, how did Reddington obtain their prints? Where are they?" Cooper asked Ressler.

Ressler didn't meet Cooper's eyes, keeping them averted and watching the trace on Aram's computer. "Reddington didn't say," he said, feeling his stomach churn.

"Well, speak of the devil. We can ask him." The elevator door opened to reveal Reddington and Dembe approaching. Ressler's stomach dropped even more.

"Good morning everyone. Lovely to be back," Redding waxed, smiling as he came up to the team.

"These prints," Cooper said, getting right to the point. "How did you know these are the men who attacked Elizabeth?"

Ressler didn't dare meet Red's eyes.

Reddington didn't miss a beat, however. "I haven't been idle in the months since Tom's death and Elizabeth's attack. I assure you, these men were there that night."

"Well, we're going to need to talk to them," Cooper said.

"That's going to be rather difficult, Harold. You can't talk to them. They're dead. But I did have their prints."

"Dead? How do you know they're dead?" Cooper asked.

"Well, they certainly didn't give up their prints willingly. They were quite dead when that happened," Reddington told them, holding up his hands against Cooper's protest.

"We could have questioned them. Did you kill them?"

Still Ressler did not meet the criminal's eyes.

"So that's what you've been doing since you got out of prison?" Cooper asked.

"Harold, as much as it may come as a surprise you, yes, there are occasions I need to kill people. I gave Agent Ressler those prints after I obtained them. Aram, I assume that's what you're searching diligently on there?"

Ressler felt ill. Reddington had just covered for him. Things were getting too complicated. He was getting trapped in lies and half-truths everywhere he turned.

Aram's screen finally stopped its endless scrolling through names and he looked up at Reddington. "The prints aren't in any database. None. I've searched all the law enforcement ones," he said, looking up apologetically at Red.

"Well, that does complicate matters, doesn't it?" Reddington said. "Harold, a word?" With that, Cooper and Reddington headed upstairs.

Ressler grabbed the corner of Aram's desk to steady himself. Something was wrong. He was all but positive that those names would have been in the databases. In the time it had taken him to drive back to the Post Office and run the search, he was now sure Prescott had had them removed from CODIS. There was no telling how deep his web of informants and contacts ran. He sagged under the weight of the additional years of servitude he now owed the Fixer, and for nothing.

Prescott had played him.

He clenched his teeth. And so was Reddington. Giving the task force just enough to keep them working and his own immunity agreement intact, but not enough to ever find anything. As usual, Reddington had his own agenda in all of this.

"Ressler?"

He slid his eyes to Samar.

"What's going on here?" she asked.

"I don't know anymore," he told her, shaking his head and dropping his eyes. "I don't know!" he said, raising his voice to her startled eyes.

And suddenly he couldn't be there. With CODIS searches and hidden agendas and his own lying to his team and boss, and Prescott hovering over everything, he just couldn't be there. Still in his overcoat, keys jangling in his pocket, he left them and strode toward the elevator.

"Where are you going?" Aram asked.

"Ressler? What's going on?" Samar called after him. "Ressler!"

But he ignored both of them, punching the button to the elevator and getting out of there.

###

Traffic was light and he got back to Camp Liz in record time. As he strode into the house and past the kitchen, he heard Debbie call out to him, but he ignored her.

He entered Liz's room, stood at the foot of her bed and stared at her. "Why can't you wake up?" he asked her, his voice a little above the tone he normally used with her.

She lay there, unresponsive to everything around her as she'd done for almost 7 months.

"Liz, why can't you wake up?" he asked her, louder now.

"I need you to wake up!" he told her, raising his voice now. He walked to the head of the bed, looking down at her.

"Wake up," he told her through clenched teeth. "Dammit, wake up."

"Wake up!" he shouted at her now, tears pricking his eyes as desperation broke through.

"Wake up, dammit!" he yelled, leaning down to her, tears spilling over. "I need you. Wake up!" he yelled, tears rolling down his cheeks.

"Why won't you wake up? Why?!" he shouted to her as she slept on, oblivious to his pain.

Behind him, Debbie slipped silently into the room, not wishing to intrude, but concerned. "Don," she said softly.

He turned to the nurse, pointing at Liz. "Why won't she wake up? There's nothing wrong with her!" he shouted, tears falling as he begged the nurse. "Make her wake up!"

"Don, sit down. Come on, sit down here," she urged, approaching him.

"I just need her to wake up!" he cried, moving away from the nurse's hand.

"I know you do. I know that. Come on, sit down here," she said softly again, as he stepped further away, running his hands through his hair.

"Make her wake up. Please," he begged her, tears falling.

"I can't. She can't wake up until she's good and ready. I'm so sorry."

"I need her! I need to talk to her!" he told her, his voice cracking with his tears.

"Talk to me. Come on, Don," she told him, now getting her hand on his arm and steering him to the sitting area in the room. "Talk to me."

And he almost sat, and almost talked with Debbie, but part of him couldn't do it. He shook his head, tears still streaming, and with a last look at Liz, he fled from the room.

And heading down the hallway toward the front door, his walk became a jog, which became a run. Running to his car, he knew where he needed to go. Away from Liz and her endless sleep. Away from Reddington and his hidden agenda and half-truths. Away from Henry Prescott and his favors. Away from the looks and questions in his coworker's eyes.

He drove away from the house, not seeing Debbie's worried eyes watching him from Liz's room. He headed out of town, heading south. Toward the cabin where there was no internet. No phone signal. And no one to demand anything of him.


	10. Off the Grid

Ressler had driven a few miles when it became clear he needed to get off the road. He should not be driving in the state he was in. As if to emphasize the point, a car horn blared at him when he ran an orange light that turned red before he cleared the intersection. He was going to get himself or someone else killed. A school was up ahead, closed now for break, and he changed lanes toward it. Once there, he pulled into the empty parking lot and came in behind the building and parked, hidden from the road. His phone rang in his pocket startling him, before he pulled it out of his pocket and saw it was Cooper. He couldn't talk to him right now. He dropped the phone in the cup holder between the seats, letting it ring out.

Behind him was the grassed area, normally where kids ran and played. He exited the car, leaving the phone and walked across some concrete courts, then onto the mowed grass, making his way toward a picnic area under the trees. Sitting on one of the bench seats, hands in pockets, he stared out at the oval and school buildings. His tears had stopped, but still he was shaking. He'd totally lost it back there and was still trying to understand what had happened. He should go and apologize to a comatose woman for shouting at her. He should go back and talk to Debbie. He should call Cooper. He should probably talk to Reddington. He should do a lot of things. And yet, he just sat, mind reeling, breathing hard, his heart hammering in his chest.

He'd never felt so alone. Tears threatened again, blurring his vision, and blinking rapidly, he willed them away.

Slowly the sound of birds in the trees came to him over the hum of traffic. Kids played in gardens near the school, squealing and laughing. A dog barked, to be answered by another a few houses away. The soft chop of a helicopter was heard in the distance. A car horn. Life went on around him, and yet, he felt isolated from it all.

He wasn't sure how long he'd been sitting there, when he finally noticed he could no longer feel his heart thumping in his chest and he was breathing normally. He rose, and walked slowly across the grass in the direction of the car. He heard his phone ringing before he even unlocked the doors. It was time to talk to his boss. The problem was, he didn't know what was going to come out of his mouth once he heard Cooper's voice.

Would he tell him everything? Tell him nothing? Tell him he was fine? Admit he was in a tough place? His not knowing left him standing by the car, listening to the phone ring out before it stopped. He sighed, unlocked the door and slid into the driver's seat, then picked up his phone. There were four missed calls from his boss. One from Samar. A text from Aram, [Agent Ressler, we're all worried about you]. And a call from an unknown number, which had to be Reddington. The only good news he had was that Prescott was not among the throng of people trying to find him. He didn't know what to tell any of them.

Two minutes later his phone rang again while he still held it, and after looking at Cooper's name, and taking a shuddering breath, he answered.

"Agent Ressler!" Cooper said, surprised that he'd finally answered. "Where are you? You just left?"

Ressler didn't know how to answer that. "Yes, sir. I…" He stopped, looking down with a sigh.

"Don, are you okay?"

"I'm fine." So there was his answer. Follow the Ressler rule book, block it all out and tell people he was fine.

"Are you? Samar said you took off without a word. What's going on?"

How did he answer that? He was guilty of murder, a cover up, being blackmailed by his Fixer, hiding evidence, lying to his boss and coworkers. Reddington was being more mysterious and frustrating than ever. Liz refused to wake up. Add in tampering with evidence and they may as well just come and arrest him now. He might not be a crooked cop, but he was doing everything a crooked cop would do. The courts would not distinguish between the two.

He still hadn't answered Cooper. With a sigh, he asked, "Sir, is that offer to take some time off still on the table?"

Cooper paused a moment, then replied, his tone softening. "It is, but I would like to talk to you first."

Ressler looked out the windscreen of his vehicle, at the concrete blocks of the school building. He should have known Cooper would want that.

"Where are you? I'll come to you," Cooper pressed in his best fatherly tone, when Ressler didn't answer.

"I don't know. A school," he told his boss, looking for a name or something to identify the location. A sign was painted on a door further down from where he was parked. "It's, uh, the Claremont Elementary, near 395 South."

"I'll look it up. Wait for me," Cooper said. "I'll get there as soon as I can."

Ressler only nodded, while knowing his boss couldn't see that, and hung up. Waiting became unbearable, and a part of him just wanted to take off and head for his cabin. The other part, the part that he listened to, told him he needed to wait for Cooper. But not in the car. Once again he found himself walking across the grass playing area toward the picnic tables. He could breathe better out there. He didn't sit, and just walked around the grassed area, past the playground and concrete courts. He was on his third slow lap of the small oval when a car pulled in beside his, and Cooper got out. Ressler made his way to the outdoor tables under the trees, and waited for his boss as he walked over to him.

"Don? What are you doing out here?" Cooper asked, coming to sit across from him at the table.

"Just thinking. Clearing my head."

"What is it that you needed to clear from your head?"

Ressler looked out over the grass, not really focusing on anything in particular. There was no way he could even admit half of it. "Just a lot going on. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have just left like that."

"You haven't been yourself for months. I know it's been hard for you having Elizabeth down like this. But I can't help but think something more is going on."

And suddenly, he was talking, and more than a little concerned with just how much he'd say. He looked straight at his boss. "Reddington is lying. Those bodies that the prints came from, he killed them the night Liz was attacked, not recently."

Cooper looked surprised, shaking his head. "Why would he withhold that?"

"I don't know. He told me something that first night we were at the hospital. Someone has leverage over him, and Tom got involved in it somehow, and got killed for it. He knows far more than he's saying. It's like he gives us just enough to hit a brick wall every time, but keeping his real agenda hidden while he works on it himself." He stopped, then added, "I mean, more than normal."

"How long have you known this?" Cooper then nodded, realizing something. "Wait. Since you spoke to Reddington in the prison. I knew there was more you weren't telling us."

"Yes. He told me there were bodies in Liz's apartment that night, and he took them. All I can figure is he'd got nothing from them, and was throwing us a bone," Ressler said, telling the truth but carefully concealing that last piece of the puzzle about who had cleaned up.

"And he told you that, knowing that if Panabaker heard, she'd never reinstate his immunity deal."

"Right."

"What made him so sure you wouldn't tell her everything?"

Ressler just looked at his boss. Because he could be bought, apparently.

"Right. This is Reddington we're talking about." Cooper paused, then asked, "So these prints today. Where did they really come from?"

And here it was. "I got them from where Reddington said the bodies were taken," he said, recalling the chemical smell, and Prescott helping him while stabbing him in the back. His teeth clenched.

"So that's where you went this morning."

He nodded, exhaling slowly. One wrong word here, and Cooper would ask more about where they were hidden and suspect more was happening.

"Yes. Reddington was right on that part. Those prints came from dead men."

"Dead men who weren't in the system," Cooper added.

Ressler steadied his breathing. "No, they weren't."

"Do you think it's possible Reddington has an inside man at CODIS who removed all trace?"

Ressler's mouth was suddenly dry, as he shook his head slowly. "I don't know."

"That's what you didn't know, what you said to Samar before you left." He nodded slowly, looking at Ressler kindly. "I understand now."

No, you don't. You don't understand at all, Ressler thought, not meeting Cooper's eyes.

"I'll talk to Reddington and see if we can get some more out of him. Though you and I both know he only tells what he wants to tell. But why do you think he told only you about these bodies and where to get the prints?"

Ressler didn't trust his voice, and shrugged. He needed to get off the subject of finding hidden bodies in Henry Prescott's storage shed.

"Is there anything else?" Cooper asked.

"Isn't this enough?"

"It is. I know you've been under a lot of pressure. It's been hard with Elizabeth's situation. I guess I just didn't fully appreciate how rough it's actually been for you."

Ressler's mind immediately went back to his meltdown, yelling at her to wake up. Shouting at a comatose patient just so he could talk to her. "Yeah…"

Cooper looked at him a moment, taking in the downward eyes and haunted look in his lead agent. "I'll put the order in for personal time off as soon as I get back. How long do you think you'll need?"

Now that he'd had time to think, Ressler wasn't so sure that he should head out of town. If Prescott wanted something and he was gone, things would get even worse. "I don't need the time off. I'm fine," he told his boss, trying to convince them both. "I'm fine now."

"You're taking time off. I insist on it. Either that, or I'm sending you to Dr. Friedman."

At the mention of the shrink's name, Ressler grimaced and exhaled. "Fine."

"I'll put it in for two weeks. I don't want to see you back before that," Cooper said, looking across to Ressler.

He nodded at his boss, half relieved and half terrified. He'd have to figure out Prescott. The story of his life.

Cooper's tone lightened. "And a word of advice. Next time things reach boiling point, come and talk to me before you fly out of the place. This child sized seat is not good for my knees."

###

After Cooper left the school, with a firm 'I'll see you in two weeks, and not before', Ressler sat in his car a moment, before starting the engine. He knew what he had to do, and putting the car in gear, he reversed, got back out onto the street and headed back up to Camp Liz.

As he entered the double doors of the large house, he was greeted with Debbie coming into the large foyer. "Oh, Don! I've been so worried about you!" She came up to him, touching her hand to his arm as he stopped. "Are you okay, hon?" she asked, searching his eyes.

"Yeah, and I'm sorry about earlier."

"Oh, you have nothing to be sorry for. It's been a hard few months for you. All of us reach our breaking point at times."

He was sorry though, despite her dismissal. "I'm gonna go see her," he said, stepping away, then looked back with a small, rueful smile. "Don't worry, there won't be any shouting."

Behind him, Debbie watched him walk toward Liz's room. "I know," she said, smiling.

Ressler entered Liz's room, noting that nothing had changed. That she lay in the same position as before and yet, something had changed. Within him. He walked up to her and stood silently. In his head, he could hear himself shouting at her to wake up. He exhaled, looking away at that memory. Finally, he leaned close. "I'm sorry. If you're in there, and heard me shouting at you, I'm sorry. It's not your fault that this happened to you and that you can't wake up. I'm sorry."

He stood and walked to the window, looking out at the late morning sky. Hands in his pockets, he watched the gardener working some distance away. He'd never had any interest in gardening itself, but appreciated the landscaping around the large house. He turned back to Liz, and leaned down to her again. "I'm going back to my apartment. I've been here, living under Reddington's thumb for too long. I know you'll understand that, Liz. Probably better than anyone."

He kissed her forehead, then turned and left, heading for his own room where he set about packing up the few suits he had there, and emptied the drawers and his few things in the attached bathroom. He didn't have that much there, but it still filled a duffel bag and his suit carrier was bulging. With a quick look around the room, he picked up his gear and left, closing the door behind him.

The smell of cooking was coming from the kitchen, and he poked his head in, to find Carol cooking and Debbie sitting at the large table, updating Liz's chart, which she kept in a large file folder. Debbie saw the suit carrier and duffel bag.

"You're moving out," she said.

"Yeah, it's time."

"Have some lunch before you go," Carol said, turning to him. "Mr Reddington and that voracious appetite of Dembe's will be here soon."

Lunch was the last thing on his mind. "I can't stay, but it smells great," he told her, forcing a smile. Debbie stood up, coming beside him as he stepped back, ready to head out.

"Is there anything I can do?" she asked.

"You're already doing it. Keep taking care of her," he said, walking toward the front door. "I'll still look in on her, but it's time I went back to my own apartment and cooked my own meals and made my own bed," he told her.

"I understand. Don't be a stranger though," she said, smiling at him.

He nodded, then turned to the door. He paused a moment, put down his gear and then turned back to the nurse. Wrapping his arms around her, he hugged her for a moment, feeling her arms around him patting his back. He held her a moment longer, then turned and left without saying a word.

###

He made it all the way to his apartment before his phone rang and the bottom fell out of his day again.

"What do you want?" he asked Prescott.

"Agent Ressler. Did you get my message?" Prescott asked.

Ressler could have strangled the man through the phone. "I got it, you son of a bitch. You KNEW I needed the I.D.'s on those bodies."

"Yes. I needed to remind you that you're not in charge. You do as I say. What I want, and when I want it."

Ressler gripped his phone, clenching his teeth as he listened to the man. And his plans changed immediately. He was not going to sit around for two weeks in his apartment on the off chance Prescott needed his errand boy.

"Well, you're gonna be without me for two weeks. I'll be off work and off the grid."

"Is that so? You get suspended? That happens to crooked cops you know. But don't worry, I'll have plenty for you to do when you're back. But don't be late back. I have your boss's number."

Ressler didn't offer a reply. He hung up and flung his phone, smashing it against the living room wall where it shattered under the impact, leaving a dent in the wall. Storming into his bedroom, he threw jeans and shirts into another duffel bag, grabbed his hiking boots and a jacket, picked up his luggage and left his apartment. His smashed phone lay on the living room floor where he'd left it. He was done. Done with Henry Prescott. Done with everything.

And once again he got in his car when he probably shouldn't have been driving, teeth clenched and furious with the world, and headed south out of the city.

###

After 30 minutes, he calmed down somewhat, but still clenched his teeth at the thought of Henry Prescott. After an hour, he was feeling a little better as the city dropped away and he sped down Highway 95 toward his cabin. The city grid had been left behind, replaced with towns with fields and greenery between them. After two hours, he realized he was hungry. He probably should have listened to Carol and stayed for lunch. But he hadn't been able to face food then, plus had wanted to leave so as not to set eyes on damn Reddington. And by the time 3 hours passed, now well and truly stomach-growling hungry, he pulled into the small town of Newville and parked out front of the country store.

As he got out of the car, he noticed his badge and gun attached to his belt. Stowing them in the glove box and locking it, he then entered the store, a bell jingling as he walked in.

"Afternoon," the girl at the register called out to him.

Ressler nodded to her, then set about grabbing a few essentials. A couple of steaks, sandwich meat, a loaf of bread and some fruit and vegetables. A six pack of beer. He didn't cook gourmet meals. He was a meat and potatoes guy. Three slices of a cooked pizza were turning slowly on a warmer as he went up to the counter to pay. And despite the fact it had probably been cooked hours ago, he was hungry enough that he didn't care. "I'll have what's left of that pizza too," he told the girl at the register, who boxed it up for him. As Ressler paid for his groceries, an older man came out from the small office behind the register, and looked at him in surprise.

"Donnie Ressler? My God, is that you?"

Ressler looked up, recognizing the owner of the store. "Hey, yeah. Long time no see," he told the guy.

"As I live and breathe! It is you! How's your mother doing?"

Ressler smiled and nodded to the man. "She's doing well. Still up in Detroit with my brother and his family. How are you doing, Bill?"

"Aaahh, can't complain. No one listens when you do, right? Thinking about retiring, but I still just keep on getting up every morning and coming in here. You heading up to your place?"

"Yeah, taking a break from the city," Ressler told him.

"Well, if you get sick of being out there by yourself, you come on into town and eat with us. Miriam would love to see you and catch up," he told Ressler.

"I'll keep that in mind. Thanks," he said, grabbed his groceries and pizza, which had been driving him insane with the smell wafting from the box, and with a quick goodbye to Bill, he then left the store. He ate a slice of pizza before taking off, helping ease his hunger.

A few minutes later he pulled off the main road into a narrower, less traveled path, going a couple of miles into the wooded area. And after a few more minutes, he turned off into a long, barely-there excuse for a driveway between the trees. A few more minutes, plus several years in between, he rounded a slight bend in the road and a rocky outcrop, and saw the cabin in front of him. Carved from trees in the area by his grandfather, and then later renovated by his own father, it had held up well.

Memories welled up in him at the sight of it. Of lazy summers with no thought of school. Memories of he and his brother playing on the swing, now long gone but the thick tree branch still scarred from the ropes. Of lighting campfires and sleeping under the stars. Of his parents sitting on the porch together as the sun set. He eyed the corner of the porch he'd sat on while his father gave him the serious talk about the facts of life. The porch chairs where he'd sat with his mother as she explained how you always needed to treat people in a way you liked to be treated yourself. In an instant the place came alive in his mind. It beckoned to him, with the years of laughter and voices buried in its walls.

###

The key was still where it belonged. Hidden under the corner brick that made up the floor inside the small shed out back. With thick leaves underfoot, he walked once around the place, checking the windows and general state of repair. Flipping the fuses on the fuse box outside the front door, he turned the power on. His dress shoes and suit were out of place here, and once inside he rectified that problem and changed into jeans and an old Quantico sweatshirt. His room, which used to be his parents room, was sparse, but comfortable. A few shirts, mostly plaid, hung in the closet, and a couple of pairs of jeans and a few t-shirts were in the dresser. After walking through the place he found himself back in the kitchen. He opened the fridge, despite it not being cold yet, and placed his meager groceries inside. He then leaned on the kitchen counter, eating the rest of the now almost cold pizza and surveyed the comfortable living room.

If he'd wanted to get away from it all and make a clean break, he couldn't have found a more perfect spot. There was no one here to demand anything of him, and yet, the thought of two weeks out of touch and completely off the grid (even more so when he remembered he'd smashed his phone) felt a little daunting. His eyes drifted to the photos on the wall above the mantle. After throwing out the pizza box and washing his hands, he walked over to look at the photos. His father was in one, happy after a day of fishing in the nearby creek. He was younger in the photo than Ressler was now. His finger traced the outlines of his father's face. And for the first time, he felt ashamed when he looked into his father's eyes.

"Dad... You wouldn't know who I am anymore," he whispered to his long dead father. "I don't even know myself."

Unable to bear looking into his father's eyes a second longer he turned away, and went and stood on the front porch, hands in his pockets. A sea of trees filled his view. The sound of birds, and way in the distance, the soft sound of water in the creek. If he was going to spend two weeks here, he needed to find something to keep him occupied. But for now, he stood quietly, breathing in the forest air, wrapped in memories of his years in this place, trying not to think of why he was here and who he'd become.


	11. Confessions

Ressler's second day at the cabin started early, with him sitting in one the chairs on the front porch as the sun rose behind the cabin. He sipped on coffee as the night was chased away and the green leaves of the trees were revealed around him. He had not slept well. His mind would not shut down, and even here, three hours from the city, all he could see when he closed his eyes was Liz in her coma, stealing and replacing evidence, Henry Prescott and his demands, Cooper talking to him, and Reddington. He was away from them physically, but could not escape them invading his thoughts.

In an effort to clear his head he took an hour long walk through the trees along the nearby creek bed, but before long he went back to the cabin. There was something he wanted to look at, for better or worse. Opening a large chest in the living room, he took out several old photo albums, sat on the couch and then opened the first one. Most of the photos were taken at the cabin, and chronicled years of family visits, summers and holidays. Each photo a tiny part of his life. A moment of time captured of a boy and then a youth growing up in this country setting. He smiled at the images of he and his brother covered in mud, holding frogs they'd found in the creek, running, playing, fishing, hiking. He looked with fondness at the images of his mother. Always the caretaker, she had provided well for them. Food was always ready, beds made, the games out when it was time to play and put up when game time was done. Everything that happened seamlessly in the background was his mother's doing. He had inherited her organizational skills, he mused.

Slowly, looking through the albums, he began to feel two distinct emotions. One, a reconnection to who he used to be and a feeling of longing for those carefree days. And two, the shame of how far down he'd become from who he used to be. It was hard to look at his father in the photos, and impossible on those ones where his father was looking right at the camera. Right at him.

The images became less frequent as he'd got older and then all but ceased once he'd started at the Academy. At the back of one album was an image of his father in uniform. An official portrait, yet beneath the uniform he was still just dad. The same guy who ran around at the cabin and let them be boys, with all the risks and thrills that entailed. Who had made the swing for them and pushed them higher and higher (despite his mother's misgivings) on it as young boys. On the opposite page was a photo of his grave stone, covered in flowers. It had been taken soon after his funeral once he'd been laid to rest and the mourners had departed. At that, with a lump in his throat, Ressler closed the albums. He'd seen enough.

###

On the third morning at the cabin, he stood making coffee, wondering again why he hadn't thought to get any breakfast food. Again, he drank his morning coffee on the front deck (just as his father had always done) as the sun rose. He made plans to head to the country store later and make a more detailed food inventory.

He had plans first though. Just after 6:00am he donned his boots and his light jacket, filled his backpack with water, a couple of sandwiches and fruit, then set off through the trees at a walk. After a few minutes soaking in the surroundings he began to jog. At an easy lope, he jogged through the trees, nimbly side stepping downed branches and jumping over a few logs. It felt good to give himself a workout in the fresh air instead of his home gym or running in the park near his apartment. After a while he picked up the pace. Not a full out run, but enough to get his heart rate up as the sun shone down in streams of light through the green leaves above him. When he reached the creek, having taken a roundabout way to get there, he stopped and sat on a large downed tree on the banks, sipping on water.

There were other cabins in this area, but they were few and far between. The roof of one appeared through the trees as he set off again, and he approached, standing in the trees. There was no one there. It sat as vacant as his cabin had in the years since he'd been here. He turned silently back into the trees, setting off at a fast pace, breathing in the fresh woody air, pushing his body to keep on running even when he felt his leg muscles begin to make their presence known. He'd gotten too soft. Sure, he was fit, but he hadn't pushed himself physically in some time, and he was about to change that. On he ran, never losing his sense of direction with the creek off to his right, knowing where he was in relation to the cabin.

Later that afternoon he drove into Newville to the store to restock his bare kitchen. On returning to the cabin and filling the cabinets and fridge, now it actually looked like someone lived there. He also had a dinner date. Bill had insisted he come to dinner the next night, and wouldn't take no for an answer. Ressler had accepted with a smile, and agreed to be there around 7pm. His only consolation was that they were elderly and he probably wouldn't have to stay too late. Not that he was anti-social, but he had come here for the solitude to just give himself time to think and reflect.

###

As 7:00pm Friday night approached, Ressler found himself wishing more and more that he didn't have to go into town to Bill and Miriam's. He was not good company right now. But then the other part of him kicked in. The one his mother had groomed about being polite. After showering, shaving and changing, he got in his car and drove into town. Their home was within walking distance to their store and although he'd grown up around these folks, they weren't family, but they were very familiar. They had known his parents well.

As he knocked on the door, suddenly feeling empty handed that he hadn't thought to bring anything (another thing his mother had always hammered into him), he was greeted by Bill at the door. "There you are! Come on in, son, and make yourself at home."

Son. The word reverberated in his head. He was not a very good son right now. With a forced smile, he followed the old man into the comfortable living room where Miriam met them.

"Dinner's almost ready. I hope you're hungry!" she said, smiling at him, then heading back into the kitchen.

At Bill's friendliness and easy conversation, he relaxed a little. Or perhaps it was more the beer that Bill had handed him as soon as they both sat. Before long, dinner was ready and he took a seat with the elderly couple at their large kitchen table. It reminded him of Camp Liz, the way the household congregated in the kitchen. And that brought his thoughts right back to Liz laying in her endless sleep. He'd gone 4 days without seeing her. A brief thought that maybe she'd woken flitted through his brain, but he knew better than that. He wasn't sure she was ever going to wake up, and that wasn't something he liked to think about.

"Donnie?" Bill asked, breaking through his thoughts.

He'd obviously been asked something, and had not heard. "Sorry, mind wandered there a moment," he told the old man, who simply brushed it off.

"Welcome to my world," he said with a laugh, his eyes twinkling as he looked at his wife.

Conversation flowed, and Ressler found himself beginning to enjoy their company. As they launched into memories of him and his brother and the mischief they'd got up to, and giving their parents grey hairs, he smiled and laughed with them. He was glad they had invited him.

"Aaahh, your poor mother," Miriam said, patting his arm and smiling warmly. "You two boys certainly kept her on her toes."

"We did," he agreed, thinking of his brother's health scare the year before. He didn't mention that to them.

Bill loaded more potatoes on his plate and then continued talking. "It's been so long since you or your family have been here. Thought you might have sold the cabin at one point, but I'm glad to see it's still in your family."

"It's been a long time since we've been here, I know," Ressler told them. "Too long." The last time he'd tried, Audrey had been killed. Again his mind wandered to the past. Where would he be now if Audrey had lived? Maybe here at the cabin with his own son.

As if reading his mind, Miriam asked, "You seeing anyone, Donnie?"

He shook his head, smiling at Bill's comment to his wife to leave the boy alone.

"Such a waste. Any woman would be lucky to have you," she said, the twinkle in her eye matching her husbands. "Anyone special, though?" she added, an air of grandmotherly expectation about her.

He thought of Liz and what he felt for her, and how much her coma had hurt him. How much he missed her. "No, no one," he told the woman, not wanting to talk about Liz. And really, what was there to talk about? Being unable to stop loving a woman from afar who had been married and had a child with another man, and who was now a widow, did not make good dinner conversation. "My job keeps me busy, so it's fine."

"You still with the Bureau?" Bill asked.

"Yeah, 12 years now," Ressler said, taking a sip of his wine.

"It was inevitable law enforcement would draw you in. You're just like your father," Bill said, a sudden faraway look in his eyes and then a smile as he looked back at Ressler.

Ressler used to think he was like his father. Not anymore.

"He was a good man. He'd have been proud of you, son," Bill said.

But all Ressler felt was shame. With an effort, he smiled and raised his glass as Bill made an impromptu toast to his father.

###

Two hours later, after been plied with leftovers and half an apple pie by an insistent Miriam, he was back at the cabin. It felt lonely at first after the laughter and conversation he'd just left, and quiet save only for a stiff breeze creaking through the trees. But still, he was glad to be back where he didn't need to force smiles and pretend everything was just great and answer questions about his nonexistent love life. As he stood in the living room, the photo of his father seemed to call to him. He stood and looked into his father's eyes again.

"I've let you down, dad. You wouldn't have been proud of me. I've gone against everything you ever taught me."

He looked down, away from his father's eyes. "I became him," he whispered. "It was never my intention, but I became him."

With thoughts of Tommy Markin, the man who'd taken his father from him, he grabbed a beer from the fridge and drank alone, surrounded by photos of his father.

"Dad, I don't know what to do."

He longed to hear his father's voice. His advice. That strong hand on his shoulder, encouraging and strengthening him. None of it came. After a second beer, he leaned against the wall, his father's photos beside him.

"I killed a woman. She was the President's National Security Advisor. It was an accident, dad. I swear to you." He took in a shuddering breath, gulping down more beer. "One minute she was standing in front of me, goading me, telling me I'd do what she wanted, when she wanted. I couldn't have that. I would not be owned or blackmailed. Not after what it cost you." He paused, seeing that night in his mind. "I told her to stop, and the next thing I knew, she was dead on the floor, blood pouring from her broken skull."

Head dropping, he gathered his thoughts as tears pricked his eyes. "If I'd gone to the police right then and upheld the law, then you'd have been proud of me."

He took another swig of beer. "But I didn't."

He paused, staring out the window across from him as a wind picked up outside. He could hear the trees moving in the dark. A sound he'd missed, living in the city.

"Dad, I crossed that line. What I did next was unforgiveable."

And with no voice or touch ever coming again from his father, he made his confession to him, standing in the dark, talking to his dead father.

###

Ressler was done talking. After talking to his father for well over an hour, finally opening up and telling him every solitary thing that was on his mind, he dropped into the couch. He was tired and drained. Bringing everything to the fore and reliving it as he spoke had invoked anger and at other times, tears. He'd also consumed six beers in that time. Add that to the two beers and wine he'd had at Bill and Miriam's, and he well and truly had a buzz going on. It was not his intention to get drunk. Not that he could anyway, since he'd now polished off every bottle from the six pack. He'd just needed some Dutch courage while talking to his father and getting everything out.

Outside the trees moved in the wind, and a shutter banged on one of the rear windows as the wind caught it. With a vague thought to check that tomorrow and tighten it down, he hauled himself up off the couch and made his way to the back of the cabin and his bedroom. He did not bother with the light. With an effort, he undressed in the dark down to boxers and t-shirt, and all but fell into bed. The last thought he had before falling asleep was that at least the noisy shutter wouldn't keep him awake, with the alcohol in his system.

###

Hours later, Ressler could hear the shutter in his sleep, louder now, banging at the back of the house. The sound of the shutter matched the pounding in his head. He rolled over, only half awake and buried his head under the pillow to shut out the noise. That wasn't successful, and more awake than asleep now, he opened his eyes. The shutter was still banging. But now there was something else. Despite the headache, he was now on full alert. Pulling the pillow away and raising his head a little, he listened again.

The front door had opened. Someone was in the cabin.

With a lurch out of bed, ignoring the surge of pain shooting behind his eyes, he was on his feet, opening the bedside table drawer where his gun and badge were stowed. Gun in hand, raised and ready to shoot, he padded across the floor of his room. With a deep breath he flung open the door, stepped into the hallway and ran to the living room, gun raised.

Someone was indeed in his living room. When he saw who it was, he lowered his gun and swore.

"Holy shit! What the hell are you doing here?!" he shouted, as the throbbing in his head kicked up a notch in response. "Is Liz-"

"Elizabeth is the same. We became concerned when you did not answer the door," Reddington replied, standing in his living room. He removed his hat and looked at Ressler, taking in the disheveled hair, t-shirt and boxer shorts. "I apologize for waking you, Donald."

"I could have shot you!"

"Under the circumstances, that might have solved some of your current problems, I've no doubt."

Ressler scowled at the criminal, then peered into the kitchen at the noise coming from there. Dembe was in the kitchen rummaging through his fridge and cupboards, and Ressler was still too taken aback to realize the man was making breakfast. "Good morning, Agent Ressler," Dembe said quietly.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Ressler repeated, looking back at Reddington.

"Well, right now I'm wondering if you had company or if you consumed all these beers yourself."

Ressler eyed the coffee table, and his empty bottles from the night before. In response, the throbbing behind his eyes reminded him he'd well and truly consumed them all himself.

He changed the subject. "How did you find my cabin?"

Reddington gave him a look, as if offended that anyone could doubt his ability to perform such a menial task. "With no phone service out here, it became increasingly obvious I was going to have to make a house call."

"To do what?" Ressler asked in frustration.

"Perhaps you'd like to put some pants on, and then we can talk," Red said, dropping into one of the recliners and making himself comfortable. "And I must say, your previous injury has healed remarkably well," he added, looking at Ressler's exposed left thigh.

Realizing he was in his underwear, Ressler turned and carried his gun back to his nightstand, cursing Reddington under his breath.

"I heard that, Donald," Red called out to him.

Scowling again, Ressler threw on a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt over his t-shirt. For a moment, he wondered if he was still dreaming. He hoped he was. He knew he wasn't. As he was tying the laces on his boots, the smell of bacon began to permeate the air as Dembe's breakfast preparation got into full swing.

Once back in the living room, Ressler gathered up his empty beer bottles, ignoring Reddington's look as best he could, then tossed them in the trash with a clinking of glass. The sound echoed in his head and he closed his eyes momentarily in response.

"Coffee, Agent Ressler?" Dembe asked, like a waiter in a restaurant. It was a bizarre sight, seeing the black man in the kitchen his mother had cooked in for years. Ressler took the cup, and then looked up again. Dembe was also giving him a bottle of water from his fridge. He took it with a nod to the man and then went into the living room where he stood at the mantle.

"You asked what we're doing here. I came to talk with you. After speaking with Harold and Debbie it became increasingly obvious that you were not yourself. The fact you're hiding here attests to that."

Ressler sipped on his coffee, found it too bitter with the after taste in his mouth and switched to water. "I'm not hiding," he lied. "I was given two weeks off. But you already know that," he said, scowling at the man. If it weren't for the brass band doing a number in his head, he knew he'd have blasted Reddington for being here. Right now, shouting was simply too loud for his sensitive head.

"Yes, so I heard," Red told him, then sobered. "Donald, if I have contributed to this… need, shall we say, to get away, I sincerely apologize."

Ressler didn't reply. Reddington was just one of a number of reasons he'd needed to get away.

"Anything that causes a man such as yourself to hole up here and drink himself to sleep is cause for concern," Red said.

"What, are you a shrink now?"

"It doesn't take a shrink to know you're not doing well. I came to talk to you because you are quite correct. I was lying to you, as you knew and eventually told Harold."

Again, Ressler didn't answer. His head was pounding. The thought of crawling back into bed sounded really good right now.

Red stood, walking up to the family photos on the wall, studying them. "This is your father. You look very much like him."

Ressler couldn't look at the photo. Reddington noticed.

At that moment, Dembe told them breakfast was ready. Moving to the dining table, the three of them sat. Again, Ressler found it beyond weird to see the criminal in his family vacation home. It didn't fit.

As Red helped himself to bacon, eggs and pancakes (Ressler had no idea he'd had the ingredients to make them), he looked across the table to Ressler. "You need to eat if you're going to help that hangover."

"I'm not hungover," he replied, but tentatively put some scrambled eggs on his plate.

"Your eyes speak a different story," Reddington said, apparently enjoying Ressler's discomfort a little too much.

Okay, so he wasn't throw-up-hungover, but his head sure was suffering. Ressler conceded some defeat on that one, and slowly forced down the eggs.

"As I was saying," Red continued, "I did lie to you."

Ressler merely looked at him. Of course he had been. Nothing new there.

"But, it was for a good reason," Red explained.

"Oh, well, as long as it was for a good reason."

Reddington put his fork down and again looked at Ressler. "I almost lost Elizabeth. She lost Tom. I couldn't lose you too."

The sincerity in Red's voice surprised Ressler.

"I'm going to tell you what I can. Tom was killed because he possessed something of mine. It was given to him by Mr. Kaplan before her untimely suicide." Red looked away at that, remembering the bridge. "An insurance policy of sorts, that Kate was holding over me. With her death, for whatever reason, she chose to pass this item to Tom to carry out her wishes."

Ressler listened, sipping on his water. "What was the item?"

"I would like to hold onto that piece of information, Donald."

Ressler leaned back in his chair. "So you're not really going to tell me the truth here, then."

"It is imperative that this item be found and buried again, never to see the light of day. The less people who are aware of it, the better. Too many people have already died because of it, Nik Korpal among them. Like I said, I'm not willing to lose you, or indeed anyone else on the task force in pursuit of it."

"Nik Korpal was helping Tom?"

"He was. And Pete McGee and Lena Mercer, who you found in that ghastly mess with the wood chipper. All three of them are dead because Tom had this item."

At the mention of the wood chipper, Ressler's mind returned to how distraught Liz had been that day. "What were Mr Kaplan's wishes?" he asked.

Red met Dembe's eyes, then looked back to Ressler. "She wanted Elizabeth to have the item in order to uncover a long buried truth she felt Elizabeth should know. She failed to see that doing so would put Elizabeth in mortal danger, which was the entire reason the item had been buried long ago."

Ressler was beginning to put the pieces together. "Tom didn't know that. He took it to Liz, thinking he was doing the right thing by her."

"Yes. Tom should never have had possession of it. I told him repeatedly to drop what he was doing, return it to me and let it go. I knew only more death would come from it. He refused to listen. He ran with the item, taking it from me after I caught up with him. I could not track him down quick enough." He stopped, shaking his head. "We saw the devastating results."

Ressler looked down, seeing Liz in the coma in his mind. "What happened to the item?"

"Taken by the men who killed Tom and attacked Elizabeth. They have had it since that night. It gives them leverage over me, and I've been trying to find them ever since."

"Through this Nash Drug Syndicate."

"They were hired by Nash, but it soon became clear that he was never going to give up the name of his client. I gave you that information to have a stab at him, as well as reinstate my immunity deal, but he feared his client more than he feared me or the FBI."

Red took a sip from a fresh coffee that Dembe poured him. "Donald, I've been looking for the man in order to retrieve my item, and was not willing to involve anyone else I cared about. I am not willing to bury any of you. I hope you can understand that."

Ressler nodded, then looked up at Red, surprising himself with how clear his mind was processing this information while his head throbbed. "If you didn't want us working on this case, this isn't the entire reason you had yourself sent to prison then, is it?"

Reddington smiled, and toasted Ressler with his coffee cup. "Even with a hangover, you're still in there. Now we come to the other reason I wanted to talk to you."

Despite his headache, and the desire to have hidden himself away for two weeks, Ressler was both wary and intrigued. "About what?"

"I would like your help with something. How would you feel about accompanying me on a little trip?"

Ressler stared at the man, wondering what the hell the criminal wanted from him now. "I'm on leave."

"I know. If I'd needed Donald the FBI robot, I'd have just given you the case when you're back at work. I need  _you_. The good man who I know is still in there, despite your recent reservations."

Ressler looked away, licking his lip. Reddington knew he was struggling with that. He might not know exactly why, but he knew.

"How long will it take?" he asked, hearing Prescott in his head warning him not to be late back to work.

Red smiled. "Two days at most. We can have you back here Monday night, or Tuesday morning. You can still go all George of the Jungle and commune with nature after that."

Ressler made up his mind. And he didn't even know why he was going to do this, but perhaps it was more therapeutic than sitting here alone. "Okay, I'm in."

"Excellent," Red beamed. "Pack your Captain America pjs, and we'll head for my jet."


	12. Smoke and Mirrors

As Ressler sat in Reddington's jet some two hours later, he was already regretting his decision to accompany Red. What had he been thinking? Nothing sensible, apparently.

"Donald, I know you must be rethinking this little excursion," Reddington said from the leather recliner across from him, "But I assure you, I do appreciate your help in this."

Ressler drew his eyes away from the cloud tops outside his window and nodded to the criminal. "You going to tell me what we're doing?"

Reddington smiled. "That's the spirit, Donald. I see that brain of yours is detoxing and your eyes are clearing. What do you know about health retreats?"

Ressler wasn't sure if Red was having a go at his ebbing inebriated state, or telling him about the case. "I'm sure you're going to tell me," he replied.

Red chuckled, and moved to a seat closer to Ressler to talk. "Expensive spas that charge a fortune for things you could get at your local gym or hotel for a fraction of the cost. It's more about egos than any actual health benefit. But people still pay through the nose to spend a weekend at them."

"And we're going to one of these spas?" Ressler was now wondering if this was some kind of sick joke of Reddingtons.

" _We_  are not. But your task force will be, after I apprise Harold of the situation."

"And what is the situation?" Ressler asked, still sipping on water to clear his head. Whatever Reddington needed from him was separate to what the task force would be working on.

"Let me give you some of the highlights of what I'll be sending to Aram. This particular health resort is in upstate New York, called Tranquil Waters. But the name is the only tranquil thing about it." Reddington's demeanor changed, and Ressler looked up. "This particular holistic center is a sham. Oh, it does offer the facilities and services listed in their very colorful brochure, but it's a cover for something far less healthy."

"What are they hiding?" Ressler was intrigued, despite his reservations.

"Drug manufacturing and distribution. Hidden on their expansive resort grounds, there sits a full laboratory manufacturing oxycodone for the masses."

Ressler looked away. His former drug of choice.

"Yes, Donald. I think you, better than anyone in your team, will understand the need to shut down such an operation."

Reddington was right on that one. "Do we know where the lab is located at the resort?" Ressler asked him. He said 'we', yet he already knew he was not at work, and not on this case.

"Yes," Reddington said, leaning further back in his chair. "Thanks to the information I obtained in the prison. It took a while, but I managed to get some time with a prisoner called Max Maddox. He insists on being called Mad Max, and he looks the part, so why not? Max was the former security guard at this lab. He knows the layout and shared it with me, and I in turn will share it with Harold and Aram."

"How do we know we can trust this guy?"

"Let me tell you about Max. He's your typical thug. Tattoos, shaved head. Large, stretched holes in his ear lobes where these godawful disks used to be. I swear, the man goes out of his way to look undesirable. A bear of a man, 6' 5" and built like the back end of a London bus. He's in prison for three counts of murder, and is suspected of killing his two sons."

"What the hell? This guy killed his kids?"

"Not according to Max. The men Max killed work for the owner of Tranquil Waters, Terrence Faraday, when Max threatened to go public with what the resort was doing. Max insists his two children were taken by Faraday in retaliation for killing his men, but mainly to keep him quiet. If he was to spill the beans on the entire drug operation, heads would roll. His children lived with their mother. She was killed in their abduction and Max was wrongly convicted of her murder. Max knows his children are being held by Faraday as leverage. As long as the threat to their lives exists, Faraday is certain Max will never talk."

"And you believe him?" Ressler asked.

"I do. Max is guilty of a lot of things, but not of killing his wife and children."

"Why did he tell you this, when his kid's lives are in jeopardy if he talks?" Ressler didn't know a thing about these kids, and was already concerned for them.

Reddington tilted his head, then looked out the window of the jet. "There comes a time in a person's life, no matter what their situation and what's at stake, that action is preferable to doing nothing. Yes, Max is being blackmailed by Faraday, but he still needs to get his kids out of his clutches."

Ressler's heart jumped a little at the word blackmail. He dropped his eyes, then Red continued.

"Max got word to me through an elaborate grapevine that he needed to see me in person, hence my willing incarceration. I am the only one he will trust to get this job done, and keep his children safe in the process."

"Why you?"

"My life was once saved by Max's father, James, and I told him that if he ever needed anything at all, all he had to do was ask. James Maddox died some time ago, but the debt of life his father afforded me was handed down to his son, Max. It is time to repay my debt to his father and save Max's family."

Ressler nodded, understanding principles like that. "How old are the kids?"

"Allan is 10, and Brian is only 8."

"Damn… they're just babies," Ressler whispered, as Red continued.

"That they are, Donald. Their aunt Cathy has been trying to find them and take them in. All going well, she'll have two young boys on her doorstep in a couple of days."

"And where do I come into all of this?"

"While the task force is at the resort, raining down the hell of the FBI and DEA on them, I need your help in getting the children to safety. It must be done simultaneously. Faraday knows me by sight, so I can't be seen. Well, not yet, anyway. They are being held at Faraday's home, where he has them doing household task, working hours that are nothing less than child slavery.

"And you know this, how?" Ressler asked.

"One of the former maids talked. But when officers went to check the boys were not found."

Ressler shook his head. "How do we get to them if they're hiding them that well?"

Reddington looked out the small window of the jet. "Oh, we'll cause a distraction and get them out in the confusion."

"What sort of distraction?" Ressler asked warily.

Reddington looked at Dembe, and as Ressler followed the man's gaze, he saw Dembe's eyes light up, and a slight lift of the corners of his mouth.

"Apparently, a fire is going to break out in the house right next door to Faraday, causing all sorts of smoke for us to hide under." Red saw the look on Ressler's face. "Oh, don't worry Donald, the neighbors are all safely ferreted away, having just won an all-expenses paid vacation to Disneyworld."

Ressler was sorry he'd asked. He leaned back on his chair and closed his eyes against the remnants of the alcohol induced headache. Just add 'cavorting with criminals and arson' to my list of achievements of late, he thought.

###

Two hours later, they were inside the empty house beside Faraday's after hiding their van behind the double garage. Ressler was looking through binoculars, trying to see any sign of the kids next door. Dembe was nearby, setting up equipment to listen in, pointing high power microphones in that direction.

"I can't see a damn thing," Ressler said, taking another sweep of the windows. "If they're in that house, they're not on the upper level."

"They'll be out of sight. In the basement," Reddington said, coming up behind them.

"I know, but it doesn't hurt to look," Ressler replied, frustrated. He swung around, taking in the manicured lawns and garden beds. Thick shade trees covered most of the rear of the property. At the rear of the house, narrow windows were at ground level, letting in light to the lower level of the home. They would enter the house tomorrow, at the same time the FBI breached the resort, taking Faraday into custody.

"It'll be dark soon. Then we'll be able to take a closer look," Reddington told him.

And Ressler knew that. But knowing two boys were in there against their will made the waiting feel even worse.

###

As the night settled in around them, Red finally gave Ressler and Dembe the go ahead to move in, while he kept watch from the surveillance room on the second level of the neighbours home.

Hunkered down, running from bush to bush in the back yard of the house they were in, they were listening to Reddington in their ear pieces.

"Coast is clear. Go."

At Red's command, they both charged for the high wooden fence, jumped at it and scaled it, dropping to the grass on the far side. Running for the cover of the trees, they crouched down. Dembe disappeared in the dark. Ressler pulled his black woolen beanie further down over his ears and forehead. Satisfied no one was in the gardens, the rose together and jogged toward one of the lower level windows. A soft light shone from it, as they carefully peered inside. It was a living area, complete with couch, a small tv, and the most telling of all, a couple of toys that little boys would certainly play with.

Dembe caught Ressler's eyes as he shook his head. The room was empty. Motioning to the next window they ran to it, keeping low. Again they peered inside. It was a small laundry room, with washer and dryer, but what Ressler saw next made him grit his teeth. A small boy, barely tall enough to reach the ironing board was ironing a shirt. Judging by the photo Ressler had seen, this was the youngest boy, Brian. A pile of clothes waiting to be ironed was behind him. Grimacing, he caught the flash in Dembe's eyes also. He knew Dembe's history. This was very close to home.

Not wanting to leave the boy, but knowing they needed to right now, they continued on to the next window. This room was dark, and appeared to be a storage room with stacked boxes. On they went, heading for the next window with light coming from it. They peered inside, and if Ressler had been angry at the sight of the youngest boy, he was livid at what met his eyes in this room. The older boy, Allan, was standing at a large table, measuring out white pills from a large bag, separating them into equal quantities and filling plastic drug bottles. Faraday had him packing his drugs for him.

At Ressler's clenched fist and move forward, Dembe reached out and touched Ressler's arm, shaking his head.

"You need to get back here. It's taking too long," Red said in their ear pieces.

Ressler hesitated. Dembe shook his head. With a last look at the boy in the window, Ressler grit his teeth before he and Dembe ran toward the trees at the back of the property under cover of darkness. Vaulting back over the fence they ran toward the back door of the home they had borrowed.

Reddington was there to meet them. "You saw them?"

"Hell, yes, we saw them! That son of a bitch Faraday has them packing his drugs for him!" Tomorrow couldn't come quick enough.

###

Red's plan was simple. Make it look like this large home was on fire, cause mayhem in the immediate vicinity and get the boys out while the fire brigade took over the street. They spent an hour in the morning laying out the large smoke bombs, positioning them at windows of the upper floor. As Ressler placed them, Dembe ran wires to each one, that would ignite them all on a signal. Where Reddington had got the smoke devices from, and the pellets that smelled of gas, Ressler didn't want to ask. He also didn't ask where Reddington had procured two full firefighter uniforms, complete with oxygen and masks. With everything in place at the home they waited, and 20 minutes before the task force were to breach the compound, they fired off the smoke bombs in the house. Smoke began slowly, making its way out of the windows in a soft grey plume. Within minutes, the intensity increased, billowing out in thick black clouds, smothering the home and the houses to either side. The gas pellets fired off, filling the air with a distinctive gas odor, as if a gas mains had burst somewhere.

As the smoke and smell of leaking gas filled the area, the sound of sirens was heard in the distance, Ressler and Dembe made their move, running under cover of the smoke toward the back fence. It was harder than last night, while wearing heavy fire fighter uniforms, their faces hidden with masks.

As they cleared the fence, they positioned themselves as close to the front of the property as they could get, but still remained hidden between a large bush and the wooden fence. As the sirens grew louder, activity picked up around them. Worried neighbours were standing in their door ways, pointing at the house that was apparently on fire. And right on cue, as the fire engines came down the street and more people came outside, now openly gawking at the spectacle, Red's voice came in their ear.

"Get ready. The task force just breached at the resort." They could barely hear him above the din of the fire engines as they screamed past and drew to a halt outside the house. They waited until firemen were jumping out of the fire engines.

"Go!" Reddington called, and they sprinted toward the front door of the house, knocking loudly on the door. A worried woman answered the door, peering at the commotion.

"We need to get you out, ma'am! There's a fire and a gas leak." Ressler called through his mask. "Is there anyone else in the home?" Behind him, a bullhorn bellowed for people to evacuate due to a gas leak and fire.

She looked quickly around, clutching her sweater at her throat. "Um, no, just me," she said, as Dembe ushered her out of the front door. As soon as she was clear Ressler ran into the home, looking for the stairs to the basement. Once found, he ran down them, then almost collided with a door at the bottom of the stairs. The door was locked.

But he was prepared, and whipped his heavy oxygen tank from his back, hurling it at the lock. The lock gave way, slamming the door into the wall behind it. Ressler ran through the rooms, looking for the boys.

"Fire Department!" he yelled, keeping up the charade. "We'll get you out!"

He still hadn't found them, when Reddington spoke in his ear. "Donald, move it. Samar has not found Faraday at the resort."

Ressler didn't bother replying. Behind him, Dembe appeared, having palmed off the woman onto the far side of the street where she could also be evacuated. She was no doubt Mrs. Faraday. Ressler knew she was guilty of harboring the boys, but right now, his priority was finding them and getting them out.

But he couldn't find the boys. "Damn it!" he hissed, doubling back. Dembe was rushing from one room to the next, duplicating the search Ressler had just done. There had to be a safe room. A hidden area that the boys knew to hide in if there was commotion upstairs. He quickly told Dembe, and splitting up, they each took one side of the basement.

"Donald, Dembe, hurry! Faraday is not at the resort." Reddington told them.

"Shit!" Ressler ran faster, looking under rugs, tables, and beds, when suddenly he found it. Behind the couch in the corner of the living room was a small opening in the floor. A trapdoor.

"Dembe!" he yelled, and in moments the man was beside him as Ressler hauled open the door, revealing a crawl space under the floor. His heart leapt. Two small frightened faces were staring up at him.

"It's okay, we're going to get you to safety," Ressler told them. The boys were visibly trembling, wide eyed with fear. Dembe spoke to them as Ressler reached down and took Allan from the small space. "It's okay boys, we're friends of your daddy," Ressler told them, as Dembe took him in his arms. Reaching down, he got hold of Brian, and brought him up also.

Neither boy spoke. Both were small, underweight and pale. They offered no resistance as Ressler picked up Brian, and Dembe took Allan. And with one boy each, they ran through the rooms of the basement. The house that had been silent before was now filled with shouting from the commotion in the street. But that wasn't what stopped them in their tracks. Faraday wasn't at the resort because he was here. Standing at the top of the stairs, he was blocking their exit with weapon drawn.

Ressler felt the small boy flinch in his arms at the sight of their captor. He had no way to reach for his weapon while holding the child.

"You are not taking them!" Faraday called out, smoke wafting through the home.

Dembe took a step forward, shielding the boy he was holding.

"Hold it right there!" Faraday yelled, cocking his weapon. "If you don't put those boys down, I will shoot one of them!"

Ressler felt sickened. This man would rather kill one of the children than allow them to be taken. Dembe turned back to him, and even through the mask, Ressler could see his pleading eyes. Ressler nodded, and they lowered the boys to the floor. He was not going to risk one of the boy's lives.

Ressler reached for his weapon, in the pocket of his bulky fireman's uniform, but Faraday stopped him. "You reach for that weapon, and I shoot one boy. I'll let you choose which one lives!"

As the smoke wafted further down the stairs, Ressler and Dembe instinctively stepped in front of the boys, still holding them close behind them. The boys were coughing. They needed to get them out of here. And looking up at Faraday, Ressler saw Reddington appear right behind the man, appearing out of the smoke.

"Hello, Terrence," Reddington said, and Faraday turned in shock, to find the silencer of a pistol pointed straight at his forehead. "Reddington!"

"You won't be shooting any boys today, or anyone else. It's over," Red told him, drawing back the hammer on the gun.

"Reddington, don't!" Ressler's cry was too late.

The pop of the silenced shot reached his ears as Faraday crumpled to the ground. Ressler was furious, but Reddington could wait. He turned and grabbed Brian as Dembe reached for Allan, and together they hurtled up the stairs, jumped over the body of Terrence Faraday and ran for the front door. Outside the air was still thick with smoke. When they turned toward the home they'd been occupying, Reddington stopped them. Their van was now parked in the Faraday's driveway. Turning mid sprint, Ressler charged for the vehicle, ducked inside it, still clutching the terrified child. Dembe followed suit as Reddington jumped into the driver's seat.

And with the fire brigade behind them standing puzzled at who would have set off smoke bombs of such magnitude, they drove from the scene.

###

"But he should have answered for his crimes, and gone to prison!" Ressler said again, still furious with Reddington 30 minutes later on board the jet. As Dembe sat toward the rear of the plane, giving the boys snacks, Red and Ressler were still continuing their conversation that had begun in the van.

"Donald, I understand how you feel. You can't switch off the cop, and I admire that," Reddington said, sighing. "But look at those boys. Look at them and think what Faraday did to them, their mother and their father. He's never going to do that again."

He'd never with this argument with Reddington, no matter how many times they'd had it, or would continue to have it on cases in the future. Turning from Red, Ressler swiveled his seat to face the rear of the plane. Neither boy had said a word, but had gone quietly with them, as if they knew that these men really were here to help them. Ressler's heart softened at the sight of them. Rising from his seat, he approached the boys. Brian looked up at him.

"Hey," Ressler said, sitting beside them. "It's gonna be okay. We're taking you to your Aunt Cathy. You're gonna live with her, and no bad man is gonna hurt you again." The older boy nodded, munching on a sandwich. Brian, nearest Ressler, dipped his head as his shoulders began to shake. As Ressler's arm found the boy's shoulders, Brian dissolved into loud sobs, finally letting it all out. And silently, Ressler took the boy into his arms, sat him on his lap and held him tight while the boy sobbed into his chest.

###

The following day, having delivered the two boys to their grateful aunt, Dembe drove them back to Ressler's cabin. Sitting in the back seat, his mind on the boys and thankful they'd got them out of there, Ressler couldn't stop thinking of his own father. It would be years before Allan and Brian got to see their father when he got out of jail. They'd be young men by then. But they would see him. Something Ressler could never do again.

"We did a good thing, Donald," Reddington said from his side of the back seat. "I've already started the chain of events to get word to Max that his boys are safe."

Ressler turned to him. "I know. They're just so… damaged from what Faraday did to them."

"Children are resilient. I've arranged for a child therapist to come and talk with them for as long as they need, and set up college funds for both of them. They'll have some rough times, but I do believe they will prevail and be just fine."

Ressler hoped Reddington was right. As the car rounded a bend, the cabin was visible through the trees as Dembe drove up to it. As he stopped the car, Ressler climbed out. Red followed him.

"You have a lovely place here."

Ressler nodded. "My grandfather built it, and my father remodeled it. The touch of his hands are all over this place."

Reddington looked at Ressler. "He'd be proud of you."

Ressler looked away. He might have rescued two young boys, but he was still in Prescott's pocket. He was still a dirty cop, for all intents and purposes.

"I don't know the full reason you felt the need to escape up here, but I have a pretty good idea."

Ressler looked at the criminal. "I doubt that."

"I'd like to ask you to come back and stay at the house, when you return to D.C." He held his hands up against Ressler's retort. "I know. You have your own apartment. I understand that. But I believe Elizabeth is aware of who is with her. She knows when I am with her. When you are with her. She hears us, somehow. She is aware. I believe she needs you while she's asleep as much as you need her to awaken."

Ressler shoved his hands in his pockets, looking around at the trees. He nodded. "I know."

"Think about it, that's all I'm asking. For Elizabeth."

Reddington turned to leave, then looked back. "Thank you for your help, Donald."

As Ressler watched them leave, he picked up his bag that Dembe had put on the porch for him. Entering the cabin, the first place he went was to the photo of his father near the mantle.

As he stared at his father's eyes, the memory of holding the sobbing boy came back to him. He could feel the boy against him as he'd comforted him. Held him tight and whispered in his ear until Brian had fallen asleep in his arms, exhausted. Ressler's own father had held him like that on occasion, when he was a young boy. He looked away, eyes misting at the memory of being in his own father's arms.

His finger traced the lines of his father's face. "I think," he began, looking at the photo. "I think maybe for getting the boys out, you'd have been proud, dad."

Leaving the photo, he went back and put his clothes up. He still had six days left of his forced 'vacation'. Making his way to the kitchen to cook something, he made up his mind. When his food supplies ran out, which would be in two or three days, then he'd go back to D.C. and the large house.

He'd go back to Liz.


	13. Brussels

Ressler stood at the window of his room at Camp Liz, watching the sun set as long shadows crossed the gardens below him. There was no movement outside, save for a few birds in the trees. He sipped on a coffee, having made it on his way back from sitting with Liz for a while. But it tasted bitter and he placed it on a nearby table, unable to drink it. He was worried. More than worried. The knot in the pit of his stomach was tightening. There was no easy way to tell himself that Liz looked terrible. Over nine months in a coma had taken its toll on her body. Gone was the translucent glow to her skin, having been replaced with a dry, matte pale grey. Gone was the muscle tone in legs that had run and chased down Blacklisters, and arms that had held her child. She was shrinking before their eyes. Ressler feared she would die a long, slow death before she ever woke up. He dropped his eyes from the scene outside, and then turned as a knock at his door tore him from his thoughts.

He didn't want company, but he called, "Come in", anyway.

The door opened to reveal Dembe, who did not enter the room but spoke from the doorway. "Agent Ressler, if you would not mind, Raymond would like to speak with you."

Ressler sighed, wondering what Reddington wanted and why he hadn't come to speak with him here. He didn't feel like talking to the criminal, yet still he nodded, then followed Dembe toward Red's room in the other wing of the large home. Ressler entered and saw Reddington sitting on the balcony behind the open French doors, taking in the evening air.

"Donald, please," Red called out, beckoning with one hand, while holding his phone with the other.

Stepping out onto the balcony, Ressler dropped into the other outdoor chair, waving his hand and shaking his head at Dembe's offer of something to drink. He took in the sight of the gardens on this side of the large property, bathed in the shadow of the large home.

Red spoke into the phone. "Harold, it will just be a couple of days and I'll have him back. Donald and I can handle this," Red said into the phone, shooting Ressler a quick glance. Ressler's skin prickled, uncomfortable that Reddington was talking about him to his boss. "Excellent. We'll fly out this evening and be there by morning."

As Red hung up, Ressler was looking at him, wondering what Reddington had roped him into now. "We'll be where, by morning?"

"Brussels," Reddington said, then sat back with a sly smile. They both knew what had previously gone down in Brussels all those years ago.

"Oh, come now, Donald. Don't look so glum."

Ressler merely looked at the criminal, ignoring that jab. "What's in Brussels?" He just hoped it wouldn't be at the train station, the site of one of his many Reddington near misses with his old task force. For a moment, his mind strayed to that day. Armed with the information from their informant, via Anslo Garrick, he'd missed Reddington by minutes. Garrick was right. In the years following, he knew he had bungled it. But, as he told himself, there was no point worrying about it now.

"I have need of your alter ego, Donald from the State Department, to accompany me to meet a very interesting fellow who goes by the name of Fabio. One name, like Prince or Madonna. I suspect he rather has delusions of grandeur, because he certainly does not have the physique, nor the hair, to carry such a nom de plume".

Ressler was trying to concentrate, but his mind had already wandered back to Anslo Garrick. But now he was lying in agony in the box while Garrick paraded around outside and his henchmen overtook the Post Office. And Liz had been there, outside that box, with a gun to her head… Romeo…

"… even listening to me?"

"What?" Ressler asked, forcing his mind back to Reddington. "Yes. Brussels."

Red regarded him silently, sobering. "Donald, I know things are difficult, and the situation is getting worse with Elizabeth. I understand it's been hard on you. I haven't had the chance to talk to you much since you returned after your sojourn to the woods. Again, I do appreciate you being here, spending time with her."

Ressler nodded. He'd tried going back to his apartment one night about a week after returning from the cabin, feeling too indebted to Reddington. But lying awake in his own bed, he'd given up and come back at 3am that night, unable to stop thinking about her and had just sat with her until the sun rose. He couldn't draw himself away, even when he'd tried. What if she woke and he wasn't there? What if she… died… and he wasn't there? He was tied to her, and couldn't leave for long. Even being at work each day, going through the motions, part of his mind was never far from her. He loved her. He could no more stop those feelings than he could stop breathing.

When he didn't reply, Reddington spoke up again. "We don't need to leave for a few hours. Carol is making us a meal and we will be eating around 8pm. I hope you'll join us. If not, if you can be ready to go by 11pm, we can head to the jet."

Ressler wasn't sure he could eat, as something then occurred to him. "I don't know where my fake State Department I.D. is. I think it's in my desk drawer."

"Not a problem at all. I have one for you," Red replied.

Of course he did. When was Reddington ever unprepared? "Thanks, I think," he told the criminal, then rose from the wicker chair. He stopped when Red placed his hand on Ressler's forearm. "Wait. I have something for you." Red turned and motioned to Dembe, who approached, holding a sheet of paper. Dembe handed it to Ressler with a broad smile.

Ressler wasn't sure what he expected to be on the sheet of stiff paper. But he felt his eyes mist over as he gazed at it. A child's drawing of two firemen, drawn in crayons that coloured outside the lines. One fireman was large and black, and the other fireman had orange and yellow hair. Beside the firemen were the figures of two young boys. It looked like it belonged on someone's fridge, where it would have been proudly displayed. In large childish handwriting were words written in blue crayon, "Thank yoo Mr Don and Mr Demby. From yor frends Allan and Brian." The misspelled words made it even more endearing. Blinking rapidly, Ressler studied the picture, his mind going back to the night they'd rescued the two young boys from Faraday, and the small boy he'd held tight as he'd sobbed in his arms.

"Their Aunty Cathy sent it to me, with a letter telling me that the boys are doing very well. Young Brian had a few nightmares to begin with but both he and Allan are adjusting very well. They're happy, playing, and have the weight of the world off their shoulders. They wanted to thank you, and Brian made that for you and Dembe. We thought you'd like to have it."

"Thank you," Ressler managed, still staring at the picture. He'd never imagined a child's drawing could invoke so much feeling in him. He nodded, then turned to leave.

"No, thank YOU, Donald. You did a good thing, helping us get the boys out."

"Right back at ya," he replied, and as Ressler went back to his room to pack, he suddenly didn't mind so much that he was going to Brussels that night to help Reddington.

###

Ressler went back to Liz's room after he was packed and ready. Sitting down with her in the semi dark room, he didn't talk. He just wanted to sit with her, and with the steady hum of the ventilator, he sat alone with his thoughts. He knew every inch of the familiar room, yet the person lying in the bed was becoming more unfamiliar as the months passed by. She was losing who she used to be. His eyes held her as he sat with his chin in his hand, looking at her closed eyes. He'd long since stopped willing them to open. He could barely remember now how blue they'd been. How beautiful and big they were. Now her closed eyelids were all he could see of them. Even when he'd seen Debbie do her pupil response tests with her penlight, her eyes were different to what he remembered. He sighed, leaned back in the chair and looked up at the ceiling. He missed her.

The door opened more, and Debbie stepped in. "Oh, sorry Don, I didn't know you were here. I'd like to do some extra therapy, but I can come back if you'd like to stay with her."

Ressler rose, and stepped from the chair. "No, it's fine, Debbie, go ahead," he told her.

"Thanks. Carol is serving dinner in the kitchen, and Mr. Reddington and Dembe are there."

Ressler wasn't sure if he was hungry, but as he passed the kitchen he heard Reddington's laugh. He slowed, considered walking by, but then found himself stepping into the kitchen. He was greeted with the sight of Agnes sitting on Dembe's lap, and he was wiping her mouth and hands after she'd eaten. She was getting so big. Ressler looked at the baby who was no longer really a baby, and was now a toddler. The little girl spied him and held her freshly cleaned hands out to him. "Unca On. Unca On," she said, and Ressler smiled. He hadn't thought Don was a hard name for a baby to say, but that was what she called him.

As he sat down beside Dembe, the black man deposited Agnes on Ressler's lap into his waiting arms. The little girl wrapped her arms around Ressler's neck saying something that he didn't understand. But apparently Dembe did.

"You should be asleep," Dembe said, smiling at her and gently poking her tummy, which made her giggle.

"Oh, she slept half the afternoon away. No wonder she's still awake," Carol told them, smiling at the child while placing serving platters of chicken and side dishes on the table before them. Agnes settled into Ressler more and he leaned back in the chair, his arms around her. He wasn't hungry, but at least he could hold Agnes while Dembe and Reddington ate.

As the two men filled their plates, Carol looked to Ressler. "Don, you should eat something since you're heading out tonight." Apparently everyone knew he was flying out with Reddington.

"I'm fine, thanks," he told her, making no effort to put anything on the empty plate in front of him.

Carol wiped her hands on her apron, shaking her head. "You need to eat and keep up your strength," she said. "You're losing weight."

She had a sharp eye. Ressler had indeed moved in one notch on his belt in the past week. But he couldn't eat when worried, and he'd been worried so much of late.

Reddington looked across to him. "Carol takes it as a personal affront when you don't eat the food she's so graciously prepared," he said to Ressler, before giving Carol a lovely smile. "Thank you dear. I don't say it enough, but you take care of us wonderfully."

"Raymond, I know this is not 5-star fare, but I do my best," she told him warmly.

Agnes put her hands up to Ressler's cheeks, stroking them with her tiny hands. "I unca On," she said again.

He smiled at her. "Don, yes," he told her and kissed her forehead. She gave him a sloppy kiss on his chin in return. As he looked at her, he tried to see Liz in her. He wasn't good at seeing adults in babies though. While her hair was the exact same shade as her mother's, her eyes were brown. But sometimes, in the way she turned her head, he would get a fleeting image of Liz. She lowered her hands and lay her head on his chest, stroking his chest with her chubby fingers. He loved the feeling. She was so little, and he held her, kissing the top of her head as she snuggled into him.

Reddington smiled, watched him. "You'll make a wonderful father one day, Donald."

Ressler hoped he'd get that chance. Fate hadn't been kind in that regard so far.

Debbie came into the kitchen, and with a smile to Ressler as he held the baby, she sat across from him and started to fill her plate. "Don, you're not eating?" she asked.

Ressler just shook his head, and rocked slightly as Agnes began to fall asleep in his arms.

###

By 10:45pm, Ressler had gone and said a quick farewell to the sleeping Liz, and had his packed bags with him, ready to go. Red had told him to pack enough for 3 days. The criminal had not elaborated on what they'd be doing, and Ressler had been too pre-occupied to ask. All he could think was that he'd be out of the country if something happened with Liz. But also away from Prescott. He'd already texted the man and told him he'd be out of pocket for a few days. He'd learned he needed to let Prescott know of his movements, and cover his bases beforehand. And he hated himself for it. To have to report in to his blackmailer was killing his own sense of who he was. But the fact he had a few days where he knew he wouldn't be forced to do something, was a relief.

An idea had been brewing in his mind. He had years more service to Prescott, and who knows what else he was going to have to do that was against the law. Tampering with evidence had almost become too easy. Not that it was easy on his conscience, but like most things he put his mind to, he was unfortunately good at it. And that's what he hated. He was good at breaking the law, and it left a bitter taste in his mouth. Prescott was right. He owned him.

But if he was no longer an FBI agent, then what use would he be to Prescott? If he resigned, he'd be useless to his blackmailer. And that thought had been on his mind for the better part of two weeks, and he couldn't get past it. But he needed the job. He needed to be an FBI agent. Deep down he knew resigning was not the solution, but merely a coward's way out. With an effort, he shook the thought away again, grabbed his bags and headed to the kitchen to wait on Reddington and Dembe.

Debbie was sitting at the table, sipping on some tea while she wrote notes in her binder. "All ready to go?" she asked, looking up at him.

"Yeah."

She watched him, her eyes narrowing in thought. "You're not doing so good, are you?"

Her frankness didn't surprise him. It was her job to help people. She was like him in that regard. Or who he used to be, he berated himself. Being a nurse wasn't what she did, it was who she was. "I'm fine, I'm just… worried," he told her.

That was an understatement. His mind was in overdrive with everything going on. He wasn't sleeping well. He was distracted at work, and knew Cooper and the others were aware of it. Even worse, they were making allowances and excuses for him. Another thing he couldn't abide.

He was worried sick about Liz, fearing she'd die while he was gone. Or by some miracle, wake up alone with no one with her. She didn't have a nurses call button beside her as it was pointless in her current state. Yet if she woke and no one was in the room, she'd have no way to call out with the vent down her throat, and no button to press. It was something he didn't want to happen, and common sense told him that she was rarely alone throughout the day and night. But his brain wouldn't let up on it.

"I know you are. If it helps in some backward way, there is no change in Liz. I don't think she will wake while you're away."

His eyes met hers. It didn't help, but he appreciated her knowing what was on his mind. "Thank you, but text me if anything changes, okay?" he said, and she patted his arm as Reddington and Dembe came into the room behind him.

"There you are, Donald. Ready to go?"

With a last glance to Debbie who smiled and told him she would let him know, he stooped to pick up his duffel bag and suit carrier, and followed Red to the car.

###

Ressler envied Dembe. He watched the black man lightly snoring away at the front of the plane, while he sat wide eyed in the dark rear seat. Reddington was reading a couple of seats down across the aisle, and for a moment, Ressler hated him. How could they be so calm? It was night, and he was glad of that. He didn't like flying over large oceans for hours, and was thankful he couldn't see the dark blue expanse 30,000 feet below him. At least the jet cut that time down considerably.

Reddington closed his book, then glanced back. Seeing Ressler awake, he came and sat across from him. "All set on the case?" he asked.

Ressler glanced at the manila file folder on the small table in front of him. It hadn't taken long to read it all. And it was a stupidly simple case. Too simple, in fact. "Yeah. I don't think you really needed me to deal with this Fabio's problem. Why are we really going to Brussels?"

Reddington chuckled and shook his head. "Oh, Fabio does need the aid of the State Department to get him out of there after a little indiscretion he had with one of the locals, but you're quite correct, Donald." He looked across to Ressler in the semi dark. "Remember Max Rudiger?"

Ressler nodded. "Yeah." He'd met him once, briefly, in Munich the first time 'Donald from the State Department' had made his appearance. The same day he'd got his leg shattered by Anslo Garrick. That name again. Why did everything keep leading back to Garrick?

"Max is with Fabio. They were both involved in a little enterprise building. Let's just say they both got in over their heads, and need bailing out. As a U.S. National, that's where you come in to get Fabio out of Belgium and back Stateside. Max will remember you, and having him vouch for you being with the State Department will be of great assistance. Max just needs safe passage back to Germany."

Ressler looked across the aisle. "That's it? What else will we be doing?"

Reddington smiled in the darkness. "Once Fabio is safely on his way back home, and Max is on his way back to Munich, I intend to finish what they started."

Ressler turned in his seat to face Red more. "Which is what? Or do I really not want to know?"

Reddington turned to him, his eyes glinting in the subdued lighting. "They infiltrated the remainder of Anslo Garrick's band of merry men. We're going to take them out, once and for all."

Ressler stared at him. "You want me to go on foreign soil and kill them? For what? Revenge? Look, if anyone has reason to want that after what happened at the Post Office, it's me. But no. I will not be a party to that."

"Oh, good heavens no. We're not going to kill them," Red said. "Killing is over too fast and altogether too unsatisfying. No, we're going to hit them where it hurts. In their pocket books first. After we're done with them, they won't have the means or the reputation to ever pull off anything like that again, because they'll be doing time in a Belgian jail cell."

Ressler nodded, only partially satisfied. "Okay, but that sounds like it's more your department than mine."

"It is. You won't need to muddy your shoes on that side of it at all. I only need one more thing from you."

Ressler regarded him, sighed, and asked, "And what would that be?"

"I need you to identify which of Anslo's men gave you my train number and time, back in '08 at Waterloo Station."

Ressler hadn't expected that. "What, so you can kill HIM? That was 10 years ago. You really think I can still pick him out now?" Ressler said, shaking his head.

"No. So I can let him go. He saved my life 10 years ago, but I never knew who he was by sight. We only spoke on the phone once. Only you know his identity."

Ressler stared again.

"Don't look so shocked, Donald. What I do know is that he deliberately gave you the wrong train information. He did not pass on the information given by Anslo, but the information given by myself. I never heard from him again afterward. I merely wish to repay my thanks, and let him escape the net I'll set for the rest of them."

That thought sunk in. His task force hadn't bungled it. He hadn't been given Anslo's correct information, but wrong intel that had been intercepted by Reddington.

"Yes, Donald. You did nothing wrong that day. And I assure you, you will not be doing anything that will result in the death of anyone here now."

Ressler hadn't consciously thought of that mishandled raid for some time, yet still it was a relief that he had done everything right with the information he'd had. He turned to Red on the other side of the aisle. The criminal wanted to thank the informant who'd passed on wrong information to him all those years ago. Information that had made him and his task force look foolish. And yet, he must have been around Reddington too long, because it actually made sense. "Okay," he replied. "If that man is there, I'll try and pick him out."

"Excellent. I suggest you try and get a little sleep. We'll be landing in a couple of hours." And with that, Red leaned his seat back and closed his eyes.

Ressler stared at him again, hating once more that the criminal and Dembe could just fall asleep on the plane.

###

Despite any misgivings Ressler may have had regarding their mission, they were all unfounded. Getting Fabio on a plane back to the US went smoothly. The man could hardly wait to escape the clutches of the Belgian police. Armed with travel papers provided by Ressler's persona from the State Department, he'd flown out that morning. They were now standing in Waterloo Station, the one place that Ressler had dreaded going, as Reddington put Max on a train to Munich.

"I just don't know what to say. Again, thank you Raymond. And thank you too, Donald," Max said, hugging Red again. Ressler stepped back out of arm's reach and nodded again as the whistle blew and Max scrambled aboard.

As the train pulled out with Max waving out the window, Reddington turned back to Ressler. "How does it feel, being back here?"

Ressler had been trying to figure that very thing out. He'd been right over there on the far platform, with Bobby Jonica and Pete MacGuire, waiting on Reddington's train, with orders to kill him on sight. And he hadn't been on the train. Red had escaped his clutches that day, not for the first time. And now he was standing back here beside the criminal, working with him - relieved he hadn't succeeded in killing him in 2008. He didn't recognize himself or Reddington anymore. Ten years had changed both of them. He couldn't answer Reddington, because he didn't know how that felt. Or at least, he couldn't verbalize how it felt. All he could do was shake his head slowly.

"I agree, Donald. It is rather surreal to be standing here with you." Reddington understood. He patted Ressler's shoulder. "Come on. I have some things to put into play, but your work is done for the day."

###

Two days later, they were waiting outside a brick warehouse on the outskirts of Brussels. Quick to assume his new role with men who valued him as their leader, Reddington had called a meeting with Garrick's men, and the first of them were arriving. Sitting in the car, Ressler was fervently hoping he'd recognize his contact from 2008 when he showed up. Nervous, he exited the car and strolled along the footpath by the warehouse then sat on a bench, pretending to read a newspaper. This way he could get a better look at each man. Some wore hats. Some had their heads down. He needed to stop the man entering the warehouse, where Red's trap would be set.

Reddington was waiting in the car for his signal. Two more men arrived. Ressler narrowed his eyes, looking at each of them as they approached the steps to the warehouse. He was wired, and all he needed to do was say the word and Dembe would hear him in the car. He still hadn't recognized anyone.

"I'm not seeing… wait," he told Dembe quietly, looking up again as a man exited a car on the other side of the street. It was him, he was sure of it. "That guy exiting the Fiat. Blue shirt and jeans. It's him." He was surprised how easily it came back to him. He recognized him as the man who'd given him the info on Reddington's train, even after all this time.

Red was out of the car in an instant, approaching the man, then with a nudge to the man's back, he was led into a small square nearby. Ressler stood, ditched the newspaper and made his way back to the car as Dembe followed Red, keeping a polite distance as Red spoke with their man. And before Ressler even made it back to the car, all hell broke loose. Police cars, with their sirens off, silently zoomed around the town square and surrounded the warehouse. They had not given away that they were approaching. A dozen officers ran for the building, working on the anonymous tip they'd had to arrest the gang.

Ressler watched from the safety of the car, and glanced up at the rearview mirror. The man in the blue shirt was walking quickly away from the warehouse, stuffing an envelope into his shirt pocket as Red and Dembe came back to the car. Reddington climbed back in the back seat, looking across to him.

"Thank you, Donald. It was indeed him. I recognized his voice when he spoke."

Ressler looked at the criminal sitting beside him. "What did you give him?" he asked.

Reddington chuckled, as the first of the arrested gang were being hauled into police cars. "All of the financial assets that I had diverted from Anslo's gang. Our man is going to be rather well off."

"And what else?" Ressler asked. He knew Reddington too well.

"Well, that, and the promise that if I ever need anything on this side of the pond, he is more than willing to help," Red said, smiling to himself.

Ressler nodded. Yes, he knew Reddington too well.

"Dembe. Get us back to the plane. It's high time we headed home."

Ressler looked out the car window. Three days in Brussels had been more than enough. He just wanted to get back to the States, and back to Camp Liz. Because he couldn't deny the feeling in his gut anymore. The reason he'd been unable to eat or sleep well for days. Something was going to happen with Liz. And soon.

He didn't know if it was going to be good or bad, but just knew it with every fiber of his being.


	14. Darkness Before the Dawn

Ressler sat in the driver's seat, watching Henry Prescott walk away from the vehicle. His white knuckles gripped the steering wheel. With gritted teeth, he watched the Fixer get into his own vehicle, and with a flash of brake lights, the man drove away. Ressler stared after the car as it headed out of the park, to be lost from view as it entered the city streets.

Prescott had texted that morning while he'd been getting ready to head to the Post Office. The task itself had been simple in its execution, but infinitely harder in the way it made him feel. Copy a file from the FBI servers. Then delete the file and give the thumb drive to Prescott. And Ressler had done it. Because Prescott owned him. He didn't even ask what the file was or why Prescott needed a hard copy. It didn't matter anymore. Not that Prescott would have enlightened him anyway.

Thunder rumbled, long and in the distance as rain threatened. It broke Ressler from his thoughts and he glanced out the side window up at the grey clouds scudding across the pale sky. He sighed, dipped his head and knew what he had to do. It was time. With a last glance up as rain began to fall in large drops, he turned the key in the ignition and headed to the Post Office.

Once there, Aram was the only one in the war room, and for that he was grateful. Until Aram spoke. "Oh, Agent Ressler, Director Cooper is looking for you," he said, looking up from his screen.

"Thanks," Ressler replied, shrugging out of his coat as he entered his office. Cooper could wait a few more minutes. Sitting at his computer again, trying to push his last activity on it from his mind, and failing miserably, he opened up a blank document. And after staring at the blinking cursor for a moment, he began to type.

_To: Director Harold Cooper  
From: Agent Donald Ressler_

_Dear sir,_

_After careful consideration, I have decided to tender my resignation from the Bureau, and hereby give two weeks' notice. This has not been an easy decision, but I feel it is necessary for personal reasons. I thank you for the opportunity to have worked with you and this task force over the years._

_Donald Ressler_

Ressler stared at the screen, feeling sick to the stomach. There was nothing more that needed to be added. Keep it simple. Checking over the memo once more, he printed it off, signed it, then deleted the file from his computer. He'd been doing that a lot today. Folding the memo, he then placed it in an envelope and shoved it in his inside pocket. His hands were shaking. And before he could change his mind, he left his office and headed up the stairs to Cooper's office.

"You wanted to see me, sir?"

"Agent Ressler, yes, come on in." Cooper motioned to the chair in front of his desk.

As Ressler sat, Cooper placed his pen on his desk, and looked up at Ressler. "How's Elizabeth doing? I haven't really had a chance to ask you since your return from Brussels."

Ressler didn't even need to reply. The downward cast of his eyes and the clenching of his teeth said it all.

"I feared as much. 10 months is…well, you know what it is. It's a very long time."

Ressler nodded, wanting to just give Cooper the envelope and leave. But it was as though his hands were frozen to his knees as he sat in front of his boss.

"What is it?" Cooper asked. "Something else on your mind?"

Ressler reached into his jacket pocket for the envelope, "Sir, I-"

He was interrupted as the door opened and in walked Reddington. "Harold, a word please."

"Can it wait? I just need a quick word with Agent Ressler."

And I need a word with you, thought Ressler, looking at Cooper while sliding the envelope back into his pocket, unseen.

"No, Harold, it can't. I'm afraid it's rather important."

Ressler rose, acknowledged Cooper's apologetic shrug and turned to leave the office. "It's okay, we can talk later," Cooper told him. Ressler nodded to his boss, then made the mistake of glancing at Reddington. The tilt of the criminal's head, and the way his eyes bored into his own almost made Ressler flinch. It was as if Reddington could see into his mind. Know what he had done. Read his innermost secrets. And just as quickly, the moment ended and Ressler exited the room. Back at his desk, he slumped in his chair, his resignation letter still firmly planted in his pocket. And he didn't get time to dwell on it further, as Aram came in.

"Um, Samar and I were wondering if you'd like to come to dinner on Friday night. Um, if… if you're not busy, of course," Aram asked, moving across to the window in Ressler's office.

Dinner with Aram and Samar was the last thing Ressler wanted. "I'll let you know, okay?"

"Absolutely, yes. You can let us know on Friday if you like. I always have most of a meal prepped beforehand, so it's no problem to add an extra plate," Aram babbled. "Or…or take a plate away, of course."

Ressler only nodded, hoping Aram wouldn't take that as an affirmative that he was going to dinner with them. Because he had a sudden feeling that it wasn't just dinner, but more like an intervention. It was obvious his mind had not been on the job and his colleagues were more than aware of it. But he didn't have time for them trying to 'help'.

Ten minutes later, Reddington left. Cooper followed him down the stairs, then quickly briefed his team on a new case. Ressler only half heard. He didn't see Samar's side glance to him through the briefing. He didn't notice Aram looking nervously in his direction. All he saw was the words he'd typed on his resignation letter. All he remembered was Prescott's sneer as he'd taken the thumb drive off him that morning. Those eyes telling him that he was no longer an upstanding FBI agent, but the puppet of a different type of criminal.

"Ressler, Samar, go talk to this Mr. Holder, and see what he has to say," Cooper ordered, and that, Ressler heard.

As Ressler grabbed his coat and keys, Samar came in beside him as they walked to the elevator. "You weren't even listening, were you?"

Ressler didn't look at her. "Did you get the address from Aram?"

"Of course I did. Someone had to."

Ressler ignored her jab, but knew she was right. His mind was not on the job anymore. Perhaps he should change his letter to 'effective immediately.'

###

When they arrived back at the Post Office, Cooper was not around. As Ressler looked up and noticed the lights off in Cooper's office, Aram spoke up.

"Director Cooper said he'd probably be gone for the rest of the day. He has meetings at FBI HQ," Aram looked furtively around. "Though, I could be wrong, but I suspect it's to do with Mr. Reddington's visit this morning."

"Aram, don't tattle. It's unbecoming," Samar told him as she sat at her desk across from him, then smiled.

"He did say that if anything came up, we could call him though," he added, looking up at Ressler. "If, um, you needed him."

Ressler shook his head. "It's fine." Except it wasn't fine. He wasn't fine. And now with his decision made, he wanted it over and done with. He could no longer be Prescott's puppet if he didn't work for the Bureau.

An hour later, with his report filed on the interview he and Samar had just made, he left his office. He just couldn't be there any longer. And with Cooper gone for the afternoon, what was the point? They were basically done for the day.

"I'm heading out," he told them, walking to the elevator. It was barely lunch time, and Samar and Aram looked at each other, then up at Ressler.

"Are you okay?" Samar asked.

Ressler only nodded, and kept on walking.

###

The rain poured down as he drove to Camp Liz. Through the fast moving windshield wipers and rain splattered glass, the afternoon looked like early evening. Car headlights were on, and as Ressler passed by a second accident with Police and tow trucks present, he forced himself to concentrate more. But all he could think of was the resignation letter in his inner suit pocket. He should have given it to Cooper. He  _would_  have given it, if Reddington hadn't walked in.

Pulling off the main highway, he turned into the less traveled road leading to the large mansion. As the brick wall of the estate grew nearer, he found himself peering through the rain drenched windows to see Liz's room. The light was on, so someone was with her. He pulled into the driveway and parked, shut off the engine but made no move to exit the vehicle. Cocooned inside the vehicle, hidden by the downpour, he sat and stared at the rain covered windows. The sound of the rain hitting the metal roof of the car was almost mesmerizing. He was in his own dry little cave in the deluge.

He didn't feel like getting out and facing anyone, and so he sat, thinking. Of how Cooper would react. Of how he'd feel walking out of the Post Office for the last time. Of how Henry Prescott would be furious. But so be it. He refused to be his errand boy any longer. He refused to continually break the law to hide a crime he'd covered up any longer. A long roll of thunder split the air above him, and he glanced up, noting the light was still on in Liz's window. He should go in and see her. Talk to her. But he couldn't bring himself to move. Because while she would be oblivious, he'd know what he had in his pocket. What he'd done. Or was about to do.

Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out the resignation letter and read it over and over, until he was seeing the words but no longer taking them in. Was he really going to do this? Yes, he was, if it meant he could stop Prescott using him. He would do it if it meant he'd no longer be destroying evidence by using the clearance his badge and rank afforded him. He slowly looked up, as a creeping horror overtook him. What if it didn't stop Prescott? What if he still had him running around doing unlawful things for him, even while no longer a Federal agent? He stared at the rain covered windshield, yet saw beyond it. Looking inwardly at the things he'd done over the past year or so, he shut his eyes against the memories, unable to bear rehashing what he'd done and who he'd become.

His eyes flew open as the passenger door opened. Reddington was climbing into the passenger seat as rain water streamed off his fedora and coat.

Stunned, Ressler simply looked at the man a moment. Reddington's eyes were still looking straight into him as intently as they had in Cooper's office. He then realized he still had his resignation letter open in his hand. Folding it quickly, he shoved it back in his pocket. Had Reddington seen it?

"Donald, what are you doing out here?"

Recovering his wits, Ressler shook his head. "Can't a man sit by himself for a few minutes?"

"Of course. But you've been out here more than 30 minutes."

Ressler's eyes flickered to the clock on the dash, which was useless as he'd had no idea what time he'd parked. He looked away, out the front rain sodden windshield. "What is it to you? Are you afraid I'm going to eat my gun, or something?" And as soon as he'd uttered the words, he wanted to take them back. That was not his current frame of mind and he was furious at himself for saying them.

Reddington regarded him. "No, that's not who you are. But I was concerned," Red replied, never taking his eyes off Ressler.

"I'm fine," he said, too quickly. Almost squirming under Red's gaze, Ressler pulled the keys out of the ignition and grabbed the door handle. His dry cocoon had been invaded. His thoughts interrupted.

"Running away from problems is rarely the answer, Donald," Red said, his voice softening as he leaned over a little toward Ressler.

Ressler's hand still rested on the door handle. Reddington had to have seen his letter. Or at least seen the word 'resignation' on it.

"Facing adversity head on is by far the better course of action," Red added.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Ressler replied, eyes darting.

"Oh, I think you do." Red removed his fedora a moment to let the water stream off it onto the rubber floor mat.

Of course he did, but Ressler couldn't possibly explain.

"I don't need to know the reasons, Donald. But it does concern me that an agent of your caliber would wish to leave the Bureau. It's far more than your livelihood. It's who you are. It defines you."

Ressler took his hand off the door handle and leaned back in the seat with a sigh. It is who I was, but not anymore, he thought.

Red tilted his head, turning a little in the seat as he looked at Ressler. "I know you haven't been yourself for some time now," he said, "and I understand how difficult things have been. All I ask is that you think about this. Give yourself one week. One more week before you give that to Harold."

"What difference does it make to you?" Ressler asked, not meeting the criminal's eyes.

"It's not what difference it will make to me, Donald, but what difference waiting will make to you."

Ressler looked out the rain soaked window as the rivulets ran down the glass. One more week wasn't going to change a thing. All it would do is give Prescott more time to send him on another errand.

"Do you remember when we were in Oslo?" Red asked. "Back in 2010. You and your team were so dogged in your pursuit, and-"

"I don't want to hear it," Ressler shot at him. "I'm not in the mood for one of your trips down memory lane."

Red nodded. "Fair enough."

They sat in silence, listening to the rain hammering on the metal roof. Both of them in the dry enclosed space of the vehicle.

"Give it one more week," Red repeated, cutting through the silence between them.

"You think I haven't given this a lot of thought already?" Ressler told him. "A week won't change a thing."

"Humor me, Donald." Red looked through the windshield at the rain, twirling his hat in his hands.

"Fine," Ressler replied. He'd wait one more week. And as much as he hated the criminal for it, that actually offered a small measure of relief. But then common sense kicked back in. Who the hell was he kidding? A week wasn't going to alter his circumstances. And yet still he agreed, because Reddington had asked. "I'll wait one week," he added, as much to convince himself as Reddington.

"Excellent." Reddington nodded, then moved toward the door handle, then paused. "Things are always at their darkest just before the dawn, Donald." And with that, he placed his fedora back on his head, opened the door and stepped out into the rain.

Ressler sat there a few minutes longer, head down, his mind unable to shut down. He was in a hole of his own creation. If he'd just turned himself in after Hitchin had died… But he hadn't. And here he was, over a year later and his career was at its end. Those morals he'd stood by for so long had been thrown to the wind. The man he was had been reduced to lies and corruption. He was Tommy Markin.

Closing his eyes against sudden threatening tears, a vision of his father's disappointed gaze filled his mind. This wasn't who he was. He would end this, in one week. He exhaled heavily as a clap of thunder shook the car. With a final look to Liz's window, he then exited the car and jogged across to the front doors of the mansion, getting soaked in the process.

###

An hour later he was with Liz, having showered and changed into a more comfortable (and drier) jeans and sweater. His body was on edge. He hadn't even held Liz's hand. He was too restless. He wanted to run. Needed to run, yet it was still raining heavily. And he'd get some weird looks if he ran up and down the hallways of the large house. But he'd considered it. He stood again, and paced around the room, unable to settle. The door opened more fully as he was standing at the window, taking in the rain soaked view. Debbie stepped into the room.

"I see you got off early today, Don. We missed you at lunch," she said quietly, walking over to check on Liz.

Ressler didn't answer, but just turned slightly, his hands shoved in his pockets to keep him from wringing them, and gave the nurse a weak smile.

She stopped what she was doing and looked at him. "You know, I'm not just Liz's nurse. I'm here for everyone. I'm always here to talk to. About anything," she said softly.

He stepped from the window and came to stand on the other side of Liz's bed, across from the nurse. He liked her a great deal. Part of him didn't know how he'd have got through the past 10 months if she hadn't been around. "Thanks," was all he said. When she saw he wasn't going to offer any more, Debbie continued checking Liz's vitals. Ressler watched her silently. He'd seen her do it a hundred times, yet still it touched him how gentle the nurse was with Liz. She always spoke softly to her, explaining what she was doing as if Liz were awake. Not unlike all of them just talking to Liz as if she could hear them.

"Is she ever going to wake up?" he suddenly asked.

Flicking off her penlight, Debbie stroked Liz's hair, then looked up at Ressler. "When she's ready, she will."

"But how much longer? She's recovered from her injuries. It doesn't make sense to still be like this," he asked, trying not to sound desperate, and not doing a great job of it.

Debbie smiled, then rested her hand on Liz's forehead. "The brain is a very complex organ. But she's still in there, Don. I have every confidence she will wake up."

Ressler wished he shared her calm demeanor and confidence. He nodded, as his eyes dropped to Liz, sleeping her life away.

"And then her life will fall apart," he said quietly, looking at the wedding ring on her finger. "She'll find out he's been gone almost a year, and her baby is now talking and running around."

Debbie stroked Liz's hair again. "I know. It's not going to be easy for her." She looked up at Ressler again. "She's going to need all of you to help her adjust while she recovers."

"It's not during her recovery I'm worried about."

"What do you mean?" Debbie asked.

He sighed. "I know her. As soon as she's physically able, she's going to stop at nothing to find the person responsible for doing this to her and her family."

"You think so?"

"I know so." Ressler stepped back to the window, turning from the nurse. "And that's when I… we could lose her."

Debbie came and stood beside him as they both looked at the rain outside. "Then that's when she'll need you the most. When she's done with her…" she hesitated, trying to find the right word.

"Revenge," he finished for her.

She patted Ressler's back as they stood together. "You'll know what to do for her, when the time comes."

I hope so, he thought. I really hope so.

She patted his back again, then left the room as he stood at the window watching the rain.

###

He stayed with Liz all afternoon. Sometimes sitting, other times pacing. Mostly pacing. The house was quiet. Reddington and Dembe had left some time ago. The resignation letter was in his room, yet Ressler could see every word of it in his mind. Debbie came in a couple more times, and on the second visit, let him know Carol had dinner ready.

"Thanks," he said, but didn't feel like eating. When he left Liz's side he didn't stop at the kitchen, but kept on going up to his room. Once there, he resisted the urge to look at the letter. That lasted about 10 minutes before he sat on his bed, unfolded the letter and read it again.

"Shit," he whispered, running his hand through his hair before shoving the letter back in the envelope and shutting it in his bedside drawer. He dropped back on his bedspread and stared at the ceiling then shut his eyes tight against the turmoil in his head.

"Shit, shit, shit," he whispered to the empty room, then brought his hands up to his face, pressing the heels of his palms into his closed eyes.

###

Sometime later he woke with a start, still laying fully dressed on top of his bed. He hadn't realized he'd fallen asleep. In fact, he was astounded he had, with as active as his brain was. On glancing at his watch, he was surprised to see he'd been asleep almost three hours. It was just past 11pm and his room was dark and quiet. As he rose to go to the bathroom, he realized why it was so quiet. The rain had stopped.

Now that he could fulfill his earlier need to run, he slipped into his running shoes and left his room, heading downstairs and then out into the gardens. While the rain was gone, its effects were everywhere in the bedraggled garden beds and flooded areas of standing water. As he jogged, he sidestepped puddles and worked out a circuitous route around them, running through the garden paths. It felt good to get his heart rate up and his lungs expanding, and he urged himself to run faster. At this hour of night, there was no one around. Only a couple of lights shone in the large mansion, and Liz's room was dark, he noticed.

As he ran, his mind inevitably turned to his resignation letter and how to give it to Cooper. In one week, he reminded himself. Why the hell did he have to listen to Reddington and wait a week though? He wasn't his boss. And yet, he had given his word that he'd wait a week. And so he would. After a good 40 minutes of running, he slowed to a walk then went back in through the double doors at the front of the house. He was feeling a little better after his workout. Looser. Not so tense. And something else, he noted, as his stomach growled. He was hungry. And taking full advantage of it, he made his way through the quiet house to the kitchen.

The room was deserted, and a quick look in the fridge produced some leftover pork chops and potatoes that he threw on a plate and heated in the microwave. As he sat eating alone at the large kitchen table, he looked around. Camp Liz had become home. He'd had a love/hate relationship with the place, and yet, it had become familiar. Safe. It's where Liz was. And as long as she was here, he couldn't stay away. This room was the hub of the house, despite it being empty at this time. And he'd no sooner finished that thought when Dembe padded silently in, then smiled at the sight of Ressler.

"Agent Ressler, I did not know you were in here," he said, opening up the fridge. "Agnes awoke and is asking for a drink," he added.

His meal finished, Ressler stood and washed his plate and utensils. "Is she okay?" he asked, taking the moment to think of someone else.

"Yes, I think she would just rather play than sleep." Dembe gave a small laugh, then said goodnight as he went back to Agnes. After a moment, Ressler grabbed a glass of iced water and then headed to Liz's room, where he stood at the window looking out into the night. After a few minutes, he turned back to Liz. Her face was pale in the moonlight coming in through the window. Ressler couldn't take his eyes off her.

"Come on Liz. Please. Please wake up…" he whispered in the dark. "I can't do this without you." Leaning down to her, he kissed her forehead and closed his eyes against the hot tears stinging his eyes. His lips moved close to her ear, and he whispered to her, begging her. "Please, Liz. Please wake up." A tear rolled down, despite his closed eyes, and he couldn't draw himself away. "Come back, Liz. Please." His hand found her hair and stroked it gently, and still he whispered in her ear. "I need you. I love you."

Moving away from her, he stepped back and found the recliner, then sunk into it. As his hands brushed the tears from his cheeks, he closed his eyes and leaned his head back on the recliner as he sat in the dark.

And that's where Debbie found him at 5am the next morning as she came to check on Liz, fast asleep in the recliner. She quietly checked her patient, and smiling at how peaceful he looked, let Ressler sleep.

###

Around 6:30am, Ressler woke to find the sun streaming through the window, with all traces of yesterday's rain gone. Squinting his eyes against the bright light, he turned and his eyes fell on Liz as he leaned forward in the recliner. He stood up to stretch his legs. Please, he again begged her, silently this time. Please Liz.

Reddington opened the door at that moment and entered the room. "Morning Donald," he said, and as Ressler moved to the window, Reddington settled into the recliner that Ressler had just vacated. He had a large paperback book in his hand.

"What are you reading to her today?" he asked, knowing Reddington's penchant for reading to her. Ressler just liked to talk to her, or sit silently. Reddington often read to her. Expanding her knowledge, he'd quipped a few times.

"William Ernest Henley," he replied, opening the large poetry book on his knees.

Ressler nodded. He'd read his works in college, but not since. "I gotta get ready to head in," he said, stepping away from the window.

"Donald."

He turned and faced the criminal. He seemed smaller somehow, sitting in the chair beside Liz. More worn. Perhaps they all looked like that, he mused, with what they'd endured over the past 10 months.

"Take the day off."

Ressler shook his head. "Why? I have a job to do." He tilted his head and looked at the criminal. "You think I'm going to give Cooper my, uh… news?"

"Not at all. You gave me your word on that," Red told him, with a dismissive wave of his hand. Ressler's word was gold, he knew that. "Just take some time for yourself. No one will think any less of you."

It was tempting. Really tempting to not have to look in Cooper's eyes today. "I'll think about it. I gotta go take a shower," he said, then with a nod to Reddington he left the room. Behind him, as he walked away, he heard Reddington's voice as he began to read to Liz.

###

Ressler was drying his hair after his shower, shirtless and dressed in jeans when there was a banging on his door.

"Come-"

Dembe burst in, not even waiting for Ressler to finish his 'come in'. "Agent Ressler! Come quickly!"

"What? Why?" But at the look on Dembe's face, he didn't ask again, grabbed his shirt then walked toward the door, throwing on the clean t-shirt.

"It is Elizabeth!"

Ressler's heart jumped in his chest. Not waiting to hear more, his walk became a jog down the hallway as Dembe kept up with him easily.

"She has awoken!"

Ressler stopped in his tracks, staring at Dembe as his heart lurched in his chest. She was awake?! The enormity of it hit him, and wordlessly he ran down the hallway, sped down the stairs, almost tripping at the bottom and sprinted past the kitchen toward Liz's room. The door was wide open as he hurtled toward the room then came to a dead stop, clinging to the door frame.

Reddington was on one side of the bed, while Debbie was checking Liz on the other side. And between them was Liz.

And her eyes were open.

Ressler caught his breath, grasping the doorframe as he stood open mouthed in the doorway. Dembe came up behind him. "I'm going to get Agnes," he told Ressler softly, then walked back down the hallway. Ressler stepped into the room and came to stand near the foot of the bed, unable to tear his eyes from Liz. Reddington looked up, and Ressler glanced at him, unsurprised to see tears shining in the criminal's eyes before he looked back to Liz in the bed. The dark rings under her eyes were in stark contrast to the whites of her eyes. Her silent tears seeped from the corners of her eyes to pool on the pillow as Debbie continued to check her.

Liz slowly turned from Debbie and her eyes fell on Ressler. Blue eyes he'd longed to see open for 10 months. And that's when he lost it. Through his own tears, he held her eyes. There they were, slightly bloodshot, but as big and blue and beautiful as he remembered. There she was at last. At the sight of him in tears, her face crumpled behind the vent and her hand reached shakily toward him.

Red motioned for Ressler to come closer. Walking on shaking legs to stand at her side, his eyes never left hers. As Reddington stood behind him, he said quietly, his voice cracking somewhat, "She knows it's been 10 months. That Tom is gone." They swapped positions as Red went to stand at the end of the bed.

Across from them, Debbie stood silently. As Ressler glanced at her, the nurse gave him a smile. "I told you," she mouthed to him, then stood aside but stayed in the room, letting them know the doctor was on his way.

Ressler took Liz's hand gently in his own. He'd held it so many times over the last 10 months, yet now felt almost afraid to do so. But he was immediately glad he had when he felt her fingers tighten a little around his. Her strength was greatly diminished, yet still he felt her holding his hand.

"Welcome back," he managed, brushing his tears away with his other hand, giving her a shaky smile. Her eyes crinkled at the corners, and he realized she was smiling at him behind the vent. But it was a small, sad smile. He knew why. "I'm sorry. I know this was so much to wake up to," he told her, leaning close to her. She nodded, unable to speak with the tube down her throat. "I'm sorry about Tom."

She broke down at that, her eyes screwing shut, and Ressler's heart ached for her. He'd been dead almost a year, yet Liz had only known a few minutes. It was fresh pain and unbearable for her. At a movement in the doorway, Ressler looked up to see Dembe holding Agnes.

"Mamma!" the little girl said, and Dembe kissed her cheek as he brought her closer.

Liz's eyes flew open, then opened even wider. "I told you she'd be excited to see you," Reddington said as Dembe came to stand by the bed. Liz was shaking her head in disbelief, her eyes still wide. As Dembe sat the little girl on the bed, Liz lifted her other hand to touch her daughter. A daughter who was a stranger to her, yet still familiar. Tears streamed anew from Liz as Agnes leaned closer.

"Mamma," she said again, and Liz nodded to her little girl, tears streaming from her eyes.

Ressler let go of Liz's hand so that she could caress her daughter as Agnes lay gently beside her mother. It was as if the small child instinctively knew she needed to be careful. At the sight of the little girl stroking her mother's chest, Ressler smiled. She'd done that to all of them often as they'd held her. It was her way of finding comfort and closeness with the one holding her.

Liz's eyes were drooping, yet she turned to all of them. She looked at each of them in turn. Reddington, Dembe, and Ressler. She didn't know the nurse, though it was obvious everyone else did. As her daughter lay beside her, Debbie helped move Liz a little so that her arm was around her daughter, cuddling her close. And despite her desire to stay awake, now that she'd finally awoken after 10 long months, she fell asleep.

###

The next two hours were a blur. The doctor came, and after his thorough check, he removed the vent, letting Liz breath on her own. Ressler, Red and Dembe paced outside the room while he was with her.

"Aren't you glad you stayed home today, Donald?" Red asked him, now recovered from his shock and back to his usual self.

Ressler smiled and nodded to the criminal as he leaned against the wall in the hallway, hands in his pockets. He hadn't got to see the moment she'd opened her eyes for the first time, but was thankful she had not been alone, and that Reddington had been with her at the time.

Reddington motioned him to one side, and they walked slowly toward the kitchen. "That little matter we discussed yesterday, with your letter."

Ressler sighed. "Yeah?"

"I think you'll find things will be a little better for you. That the reasons you have for wanting to leave may not be as much of a problem now."

Ressler looked at Reddington. What was the criminal saying? What did he know? He knew Reddington wasn't only referring to Liz now being awake. And he couldn't ask the man. To do so would reveal what his problems were with Prescott.

At the look in Ressler's eyes, Red simply smiled that genuine smile of his that reached his eyes. "You'll be okay, Donald. Concentrate on Elizabeth now. She's going to need you while she recovers and gets her strength back."

As the doctor left Liz's room and came back down the hallway toward them, Reddington turned and asked how she was doing.

"Very well, actually, all things considered. She has a long road of physical therapy ahead of her but she will be fine. She's sleeping again now."

As the doctor left, Red patted Ressler on the shoulder. "I think we have some people who will be happy to hear this news, don't you?"

Ressler hadn't even given that a thought but suddenly realized they hadn't told anyone else. "I'll call Cooper," he told Reddington. "And he can fill them in on it."

"Excellent. And I believe Carol has breakfast ready. Care to join me?"

"Yeah, give me a moment to call Cooper," he said, then left Reddington and bounded up the stairs two at a time and went to his room. As he entered, his phone was buzzing on the bedside table. He hadn't even thought to grab it when Dembe had come in earlier.

His buoyant mood evaporated when he saw who was texting him. Prescott. Three missed texts. But as he read them, he looked up, his mind whirling.

[You're off the hook for a while.]

[I have to head overseas for a few months. I'll be gone by the end of the week.]

[So you won't be hearing from me for a while. But don't worry. I'll be back next year.]

What the hell? And he knew instantly this was Reddington's doing. "How the…?" He had no idea, yet knew in his heart Reddington had fixed this, at least temporarily. How had Reddington known? Yet as quickly as he'd asked that, he knew that Reddington didn't miss anything that concerned those around him. Suddenly remembering he needed to call Cooper, he did so and passed on the news that Liz was awake.

As he hung up from his boss, Ressler opened the drawer of his bedside table to see is resignation letter sitting there. He took it and read it again, then glanced at Prescott's texts on his phone. He then tore the letter in half and dropped it into the trash. He didn't need it anymore. Things with Prescott weren't over, but he'd been given a reprieve for now. Time to think and regroup.

As he walked back down to the kitchen, he felt lighter. Better than he had in months. It was over. Liz's long sleep was over. It presented a whole new set of problems for her, but the worst was behind them now. She was awake.

Stepping into the kitchen, Reddington looked up as Carol served breakfast on the large kitchen table. Ressler knew the criminal had done something to get Prescott off his back for a while, yet he couldn't ask what or even mention it.

"I trust Harold was pleased," Red said, digging into a plate of eggs benedict.

"He was. They all were, he called them up to his office to hear the news," Ressler told him, sitting across from him at the table.

Reddington placed his fork on his plate and looked at Ressler. "It matters not how strait the gate. How charged with punishments the scroll. I am the master of my fate. I am the captain of my soul."

Ressler looked at him.

"It's what I was reading to Elizabeth when she woke," Reddington explained.

Ressler took in the words. Once more, Reddington was telling him something without saying it. He smiled at the criminal and nodded. Neither man needed to say a word. Each knew the other too well.

"Thank you," Ressler told him, grateful to the man.

###

Breakfast done, he headed back down the hallway toward Liz's room. As he peered in the doorway, he was taken with how different she looked without the vent. He'd got so used to seeing it and now it was gone. He could see her face now. She was asleep, propped up on pillows and no longer lying flat. Debbie was with her, but was just finishing up.

Ressler looked at the nurse. He hadn't had a moment to talk with her with all the activity of the morning.

"She's doing great," she told Ressler, smiling at him.

"Thanks to you," he said.

"Oh, we all played a part. It was more than just taking care of her physical needs that got her this far," she said softly.

"Did you know she'd wake up today? Like, this morning when you checked her, was there a sign?" He had to know.

"Honestly, no, there was no indication that it would happen today." She smiled, looking at the sleeping Liz. "Her brain just finally decided it had rested long enough." Still smiling, she looked up at him and patted his arm.

He was so incredibly grateful to the nurse. She'd been their rock through all of this and would continue to be as Liz recovered more. "Thank you, Debbie," he said, and then his arms were around her, surprising the nurse with his impromptu hug.

She patted his back and as they separated, she looked up at him with shining eyes. "She's going to be okay, Don," she reassured him, then left the room.

Liz stirred as he sat in the recliner, perhaps at the sound of their voices. Within a few minutes, she slowly opened her eyes.

"Hey," he said softly.

"Hey," she replied, and his heart jumped to hear her voice for the first time in almost a year. It was thin and wavery, her throat in pain from the months of intubation, yet it was her voice. He'd missed it.

"How do you feel?" he asked, and when she motioned to her throat, he handed her some water and held the cup for her while she sipped through the straw gratefully.

"Thank you," she replied, as he placed the glass back on the table. Turning her head slowly, she looked at him. "You got thinner."

He laughed. A sound he wasn't sure he'd ever hear from his lips again. "So did you," he said with a smile, and she smiled back.

"Yes, I did. Are you okay?" she asked him.

"Oh, I'm fine. You're the one who needs to rest and get your strength back."

She nodded, and slowly lifted her left hand, gazing at her wedding ring that was loose on her thin finger. "He's really gone…?"

Ressler dropped his gaze, and nodded. "Yes. I'm sorry, Liz. They tried so hard to save him."

Tears sprang to her eyes and rolled down her cheeks. Ressler reached for her hand. Her tears increased, and he felt her grip his hand more. He leaned closer to her. "I'm sorry."

She nodded as her tears fell. Ressler just wanted to take her pain away.

"Were you there? When he…?" she asked through her sobs.

Ressler's mind went back to the hospital on that terrible night almost a year ago. His eyes took on a faraway look as he remembered it all. "Yes, we were all there, just a few feet away from him, and you Liz…"

"Thank you," she cried, and he held her hand as she sobbed.

"I'm sorry, Liz…I'm right here," he whispered. He reached up and stroked her hair, and slowly she regained some composure and her sobs quieted.

She nodded, looking at him with her bloodshot eyes. "You are," she said.

He smiled at her, continuing to stroke her hair as she settled.

"And Agnes," she choked out. "She's got so big."

"She has," he said, still leaning close and holding her hand. "We've all taken care of her. Dembe mainly and he's awesome with her. He's a good uncle Dembe," he told her, smiling gently. And he didn't really know why he was telling her, except it was helping her calm down and look at him more.

"And uncle Don too?" she asked through her tears.

"Of course. I'm unca On," he said gently, and at that she smiled.

"Thank you, Ress," she said and gripped his hand a little more.

"I just can't believe how big… she is…" Her voice was fading as exhaustion overtook her again. He stayed with her and held her hand as she slowly fell asleep and her breathing steadied.

He watched her while she slept, still holding her hand and sitting in the recliner that he'd sat in so many nights with her. But it was different now. She was asleep, but this time he knew she'd wake up.

THE END

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Thank you to everyone who has taken the time to leave a review on my story. It's always nice to get feedback and see that people are reading it and enjoying it :-)


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